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Entered at the Post Office , N. Y., as Second Class Matter. 

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BY 


BERNARDIK de ST. PIERRE. 

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r 1 “4 - WASHl^R^ 

f NEW YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street. 






THE GREAT LONDON SUCCESS! 


VICE VERSA; 

Or, A Lesson to Fathers. 

v By F. ANSTEY. 

PRICES : 

No. 30. Lovell’s Library, 12mo., large type, neat paper cover, - .20 

1 vol., 12mo. , xilotli, gilt, - - .50 


XTRACTS FROM NOTICES BY THE ENGLISH PRESS. 

VANITY FAIN. 

' “This book (‘Vice Versa,’) is, in our opinion, the drollest work ever written m the 
^Bglish language.” 

A CADEYY. 

“ It is certainly The best book of its kind that has appeared for a long time ; and in the 
tv ay of provoking laughter by certain old-fashioned means, which do not involve satire or 
sarcasm, it has few rivals.” 

A TIIENAEUM. 

“ The whole story is told with delightful drollery and spirit, and there is not a dull page 
in the volume. It should be added that Mr. Anstey writes well, and in a style admirably 
suited to his amusing subject.” 

COUNT JOURNAL. 

° f 

“The story is told with so much wit and gayety that we can not be deceived in our 
impression of the future career of F. Anstey bec-g destined to attain the greatest success 
among the most popular authors of the day.” s 

NOTES AND QUERIES. 

“This is a thoroughly laughable book, and in days when most authors, like the poet of 
Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes’s verses, seem to shrink from ‘ writing as funny as they can,’ it 
richly deserves the exceptional welcome due to an exceptional effort.” 

WORLD. 

“ The idea of a father and son exchanging their identity has suggested itself to many 
minds before now. It is illustrated in this book with surprising freshness* originality, and 
force. . . . The book is more than wildly comic and amusing; it is, in parts, exceedingly 
pathetic.” -■ 

SA TURD A Y REVIEW. 

“ If there ever was a book made up from beginning to end of laughter, yet not a comic 
book, or a ‘ merry ’ book, or a book ©f jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tom- 
fool-book, but a perfectly sober and serious book, in a reading of which a sober man may 
laugh without shame from beginning to end, it is the new book called ‘Vice Versa ; or. a 
Lesson to Fathers.’ . ., . We close the book, recoihmending it very earnestlv, to all 
fathers, in the first instance, and their sons, nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.” 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 14 & 16 Vesey Street, New York, 


Copyright 1882, by Thk John W. Lovell Company. 



Volume 2, No. 37. Oct. 12, 1882. Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription, 52 Numbers, $8.00. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


PREFACE. 


In introducing to the Public the present edition of this 
well known and affecting Tale, — the chef-d'oeuvre of its gifted 
author, the Publishers take occasion to say, that it affords 
them no little gratification, to apprise the numerous admirers 
of “ Paul and Virginia that the entire work of St. Pierre 
is now presented to them. All the previous editions have 
been disfigured by interpolations, and mutilated by numer- 
ous omissions and alterations, which have had the effect of 
reducing it from the rank of a Philosophical Tale, to the level 
of a mere story for children. 

Of the merits of “ Paul and Virginia,” it is hardly necessary 
to utter a word ; it tells its own story eloquently and impres- 


2 


PREFACE 


sively, and in a language simple, natural and true, it touches 
the common heart of the world. There are but few works 
that have obtained a greater degree of popularity, none are 
more deserving it ; and the Publishers cannot therefore refrain 
from expressing a hope that their efforts in thus giving a 
faithful transcript of the work, — an acknowledged classic by 
the European world, — may be, in some -degree, instrumental 
in awakening here, at home, a taste for those higher works 
of Fancy, which, while they seek to elevate and strengthen 
the understanding, instruct and purify the heart. It is in this 
character that the Tale of “ Paul and Virginia ” ranks pre- 
eminent. 


i 


MEMOIR 


OF 

BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


Love of nature, that strong feeling of enthusiasm which 
leads to profound admiration of the whole works of creation, 
belongs, it may be presumed, to a certain peculiarity of 
of organization, and has, no doubt, existed in different 
individuals from the beginning of the world. The old poets 
and philosophers, romance writers and troubadours had all 
looked upon Nature with observing and admiring eyes. They 
have most of them given incidentally charming pictures of 
spring, of the setting sun, of particular spots, and of favorite 
flowers. 

There are few writers of note, of any country or of any age, 
from whom quotations might not be made in proof of the 
love with which they regarded Nature. And this remark 
applies as much to religious and philosophic writers as to 
poets, — equally to Plato, St. Frangois de Sales, Bacon and 
Fenelon, as to Shakspeare, Racine, Calderon, or Burns ; for 
from no really philosophic or religious doctrine can the love 
of the works of Nature be excluded. 

But before the days of Jean Jacques Rousseau, Buff on, 
and Bernardin de St. Pierre, this love of Nature had not been 
expressed in all its intensity. Until their day, it had not 
been written on exclusively. The lovers of Nature were not, 
till then, as they may perhaps since be considered, a sect 
apart. Though perfectly sincere in all the adoration they 
offered, they were less entirely, and certainly less diligently 
and constantly, her adorers. 


4 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN BE ST PIERRE . 


It is the great praise of Bernardin de St. Pierre, that coni' 
ing immediately after Rousseau and Buffon and being one of 
the most proficient writers of the same school, he was in no 
degree their imitator, but perfectly original and new. He in- 
tuitively perceived the immensity of the subject he intended to 
explore and has told us that no day of his life passed without 
his collecting some valuable materials for his writings. In 
the divine works of Nature, he diligently sought to discover 
her laws. It was his early intention not to begin to write 
until he had ceased to observe ; but he found observation 
endless, and that he was “ like a child, who with a shell digs 
a hole in the sand to receive the waters of the ocean.” He 
elsewhere humbly says, that not only the general history of 
Nature, but even that of the smallest plant, was far beyond 
his ability. Before, however, speaking further of him as an 
author, it will be necessary to recapitulate the chief events of 
his life. 

Henri-Jacques Bernardin de St. Pierre, was born at 
Havre in 1737 . He always considered himself descended 
from Eustache de St. Pierre, who is said by Froissart (and I 
believe by Froissart only), to have so generously offered 
himself as a victim to appease the wrath of Edward the Third 
against Calais. He, with his companions in virtue, it is also 
said, was saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. In 
one of his smaller works, Bernardin asserts this descent, and 
it was certainly one of which he might be proud. Many 
anecdotes are related of his childhood, indicative of the 
youthful author, — of his strong love of Nature, and his 
humanity to animals. 

That “ the child is father of the man,'” has been seldom 
more strongly illustrated. There is a story of a cat, which, 
when related by him many years afterwards to Rousseau, 
caused that philosopher to shed tears. At eight years of age, 
he took the greatest pleasure in the regular culture of his 
garden; and possibly then stored up some of the ideas which 
afterwards appeared in the “ Fraisier.” His sympathy with 
all living things was extreme. 

In “ Paul and Virginia,” he praises, with evident satisfac- 
tion, their meal of milk and eggs, which had not cost any 
animal its life. It has been remarked, and possibly with truth, 
that every tenderly disposed heart, deeply imbued with a love 
of Nature, is at times somewhat Braminical. St. Pierre’s 
certainly was. 

When quite young, he advanced with a clenched fist towards 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN BE ST. PIERRE. 


5 


a carter who was ill-treating a horse. And when taken for 
the first time, by his father, to Rouen, having the towers of the 
cathedral pointed out to him, he exclaimed, “ my God ! how 
high they fly.” Every one present naturally laughed. Ber- 
nardin had only noticed the flight of some swallows who had 
built their nests there. He thus early revealed those instincts 
which afterwards became the guidance of his life : the strength 
of which possibly occasioned his too great indifference to all 
monuments of art. The love of study and of solitude were 
also characteristics of his childhood. His temper is said to 
have been moody, impetuous, and intractable. Whether this 
faulty temper may not have been produced or rendered worse 
by mismanagement, cannot now be ascertained. It um 
doubtedly became afterwards, to St. Pierre, a fruitful source 
of misfortune and of woe. 

The reading of voyages was with him, even in childhood, 
almost a passion. At twelve years of age, his whole soul was 
occupied by Robinson Crusoe and his island. His romantic 
love of adventure seeming to his parents to announce a predi- 
lection in favor of the sea, he was sent by them with one of 
his uncles to Martinique. But St. Pierre had not sufficiently 
practised the virtue of obedience to submit, as was necessary, 
to the discipline of a ship. He was afterwards placed with 
the^ Jesuits at Caen, with whom he made immense progress in 
his studies. But, it is to be feared, he did not conform too 
well to the regulations of the college, for he conceived, from 
that time, the greatest devastation for places of public educa- 
tion. And this aversion he has frequently testified in his 
writings. While devoted to his books of travels, he in turn 
anticipated being a Jesuit, a missionary or a martyr ; but his 
family at length succeeded in establishing him at Rouen, 
where he completed his studies with brilliant success, in 17*57 
He soon after obtained a commission as an engineer,, with a 
salary of one hundred louis. In this capacity he was sent 
(1760) to Dusseldorf, under the command of Count St. Ger- 
main. This was a career in which he might have acquired 
both honor and fortune ; but, most unhappily for St. Pierre, he 
looked upon the useful and necessary etiquettes of life of as 
many unworthy prejudices. Instead of conforming to them, 
he sought to trample on them. In addition, he evinced 
some disposition to rebel against his commander, and was 
unsocial with his equals. It is not, therefore, to be wondered 
at, that at this unfortunate period of his existence, he made 
himself enemies ; or that, notwithstanding his great talents 


6 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


or the coolness he had exhibited in moments of danger, he 
should have been sent back to France. Unwelcome, under 
these circumstances, to his family,, he was ill received by all. 

It is a lesson yet to be learned, that genius gives no charter 
for the indulgence of error, — a truth yet to be remembered, 
that only a small portion of the world will look with leniency 
on the failings of the highly gifted ; and, that from them- 
selves, the consequences of their own actions can never be 
averted. It is yet, alas ! to be added to the convictions of the 
ardent in mind, that no degree of excellence in science or lit- 
erature, not even the immortality of a name, can exempt its 
possessor from obedience to moral discipline ; or give him 
happiness, unless “ temper’s image” be stamped on his daily 
words and actions. St. Pierre’s life was sadly embittered by 
his own conduct. The adventurous life he led after his return 
trom Dusseldorf, some of the circumstances of which exhib- 
ited him in an unfavorable light to others, tended, perhaps, 
to tinge his imagination with that wild and tender melancholy 
so prevalent in his writings. A prize in the lottery had just 
doubled his very slender means of existence, when he obtained 
the appointment of • geographical engineer, and was sent to 
Malta. The Knights of the Order were at this time expecting 
to be attacked by the Turks. Having already been in the 
service, it was singular that St. Pierre should have had the 
imprudence to sail without his commission. He thus sub- 
jected himself to a thousand disagreeables, for the officers 
would not recognize him as one of themselves. The effects of 
their neglect on his mind were tremendous ; his reason for a 
time seemed almost disturbed by the mortifications he suffered. 

After receiving an insufficient indemnity for the expenses 
of his voyage, St. Pierre returned to France, there to endure 
fresh misfortunes. 

Not being able to obtain any assistance from the ministry 
or his family, he resolved on giving lessons in the mathemat- 
ics. But St. Pierre was less adapted than most others for suc- 
ceeding in the apparently easy, but really . ingenious and diffi- 
cult, art of teaching. When education is better understood, it 
will be more generally acknowledged, that, to impart instruc- 
tion with success, a teacher must possess deeper intelligence 
than is implied by the profoundest skill in any one branch of 
science or of art. All minds, even to the youngest, require, 
while being taught, the utmost compliance and consideration ; 
and these qualities can scarcely be properly exercised without 
a true knowledge of the human heart, united to much prac- 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


7 


tical patience. St. Pierre, at this period of his life, certainly 
did not possess them. It is probable that Rousseau, when 
he attempted in his youth to give lessons in music, not know- 
ing anything whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted for 
the task of instruction, than St. Pierre with all his mathemat- 
ical knowledge. The pressure of poverty drove him to Hol- 
land. He was well received at Amsterdam, by a French ref- 
ugee named Mustel, who edited a popular journal there, and 
who procured him employment, with handsome remuneration. 
St. Pierre did not, however, remain long satisfied with this 
quiet mode of existence. Allured by the encouraging recep-^. 
tion given by Catherine II. to foreigners, he set out for St. Pe- 
tersburg. Here, until he, obtained the protection of the 
Marechal de Munich, and the friendship of Duval, he had 
again to contend with poverty. The latter generously opened 
to him his purse, and by the Marechal he was introduced to 
Villebois, the Grand Master of Artillery, and by him presen- 
ted to the Empress. St. Pierre was so handsome, that by 
some of his friends it was supposed, perhaps, too, hoped, that 
he would supersede Orloff in the favor of Catherine. But 
more honorable illusions, though, they were but illusions, oc- 
cupied his own mind. He neither sought nor wished to cap- 
tivate the Empress. His ambition was to establish a repub- 
lic on the shores of the lake Aral, of which, in imitation of 
Plato or Rousseau, he was to be the legislator. Pre-occupied 
with the reformation of despotism, he did not sufficiently look 
into his own heart, or seek to avoid a repetition of the same 
errors that had already changed friends into enemies, and 
been such a terrible barrier to his success in life. His mind 
was already morbid, and in fancying that others did not under- 
stand him, he forgot that he did not understand others. The 
Empress, with the rank of captain, bestowed on him a grant 
of fifteen hundred francs ; but when General Dubosquet pro- 
posed to take him with him to examine the military position of 
Finland, his only anxiety seemed to be to return to France : 
still he went to Finland ; and his own notes of his occupations 
and experiments on that expedition prove, that he gave him- 
self up in all diligence to considerations of attack and de- 
fence. He, who loved Nature so intently, seems only to have 
seen in the extensive and majestic forests of the north, a 
theatre of war. In this instance, he appears to have stifled 
every emotion of admiration, and to have beheld, alike, cities 
and countries in his character of military surveyor. 

On his return to St. Petersburg, he found his protector 


8 


MEMOIR ■ OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE . 

Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre then resolved on espousing 
the cause of the Poles. He went into Poland with a high 
reputation, — that of having refused the favors of despotism, 
to aid the cause of liberty. But it was his private life, rather 
than his public career, that was affected by his residence in 
Poland. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, and, for- 
getful of all considerations, quitted her family to reside with 
him. Yielding, however, at length, to the entreaties of her 
mother, she returned to her home. St. Pierre, filled with 
regret, resorted to Vienna , but, unable to support the sadness 
which oppressed him, and imagining that sadness to be shared 
by the Princess, he soon went back to Poland. His return 
was still more sad than his departure ; for he found himself 
regarded by her who had once loved him, as an intruder. It 
is to this attachment he alludes so touchingly in one of his 
letters. “ Adieu ! friends dearer than the treasures of India ! 
Adieu! forests of the North, that I shall never see again! — 
tender friendship, and the still dearer sentiments which sur- 
passed it ! — days of intoxication and of happiness adieu ! 
adieu ! We live but for a day, to die during a whole life ! ” 

This letter appears to one of St. Pierre’s most partial bio- 
graphers, as if steeped in tears ; and he speaks of his romantic 
and unfortunate adventure in Poland, as the ideal of a poet’s 
love. 

“ To be,” says M. Sainte-Beuve, “ a great poet, and loved 
before he had thought of glory ! To exhale the first perfume 
of a soul of genius, believing himself only a lover! To 
reveal himself, for the first time, entirely, but in mystery ! ” 

In his enthusiasm, M. Sainte-Beuve loses sight of the mel- 
ancholy sequel, which must have left so sad a remembrance in 
St. Pierre’s own mind. His suffering, from this circumstance, 
may perhaps have conduced to his making Virginia so good 
and true, and so incapable of giving pain. 

In 1766, he returned to Havre; but his relations were by 
this time dead or dispersed, and after six years of exile, he 
found himself once more in his own country, without employ- 
ment and destitute of pecuniary resources. 

The Baron de Breteuil at length obtained for him a com- 
mission as Engineer to the Isle of France, whence he returned 
in 1771. In this interval, his heart and imagination doubtless 
received the germs of his immortal works. Many of the 
events, indeed, of the “ Vogage a File de Trance,” are to be 
found modified by imagined circumstances in “ Paul and 
Virginia.” He returned to Paris poor in purse, but rich in 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


9 


observation and mental resources, and resolved to devote 
himself tor literature. By the Baron de Breteuil he was 
recommended to D’Alembert, who procured a publisher for 
his “ Voyage,” and also introduced him to Mile, de l’Espinasse. 
But no one, in spite of his great beauty, was so ill calculated 
to shine or please in society as St. Pierre. His manners 
were timid and embarrassed, and, unless to those with whom 
he was very intimate, he scarcely appeared intelligent. 

It is sad to think, that misunderstanding should prevail to 
such an extent, and heart so seldom really speak to heart, in 
the intercourse of the world, that the most humane may 
appear cfuel, and the sympathizing indifferent. Judging of 
Mile, de l’Espinasse from her letters, and the testimony of 
her contemporaries, it seems quite impossible that she could 
have given pain to any one, more particularly to a man 
possessing St. Pierre’s extraordinary and profound sensibility. 
Both she and D’Alembert were capable of appreciating him ; 
but the society in which they moved laughed at his timidity, 
and the tone of raillery in which they often indulged was not 
understood by him. It is certain that he withdrew from their 
circle with wounded and mortified feelings, and, in spite of an 
explanatory letter from D’Alembert, did not return to it. 
The inflictors of all this pain, in the mean time, were possibly 
as unconscious of the meaning attached to their words, as 
were the birds of old of the augury drawn from theii flight. 

St. Pierre, in his “ Preambule de l’Arcadie,” has patheti- 
cally and eloquently described the deplorable state of his 
health and feelings, after frequent humiliating disputes and 
disappointments had driven him from society ; or rather, 
when like Rousseau, he was “ self-banished ” from it. 

“ I was struck,” he says, “ with an extraordinary malady. 
“ Streams of fire, like lightning, flashed before my eyes ; 
every object appeared to me double, or in motion ; like 
(Edipus, I saw two suns. * * In the finest day of summer, I 
could not cross the Seine in a boat without experiencing 
intolerable anxiety. If, in a public garden, I merely passed 
by a piece of water, I suffered from spasms and a feeling of 
horror. I could not cross a garden in which many people 
were collected ; if they looked at me, I immediately imagined 
they were speaking ill of me.” It was during this state of 
suffering that he devoted himself with ardor to collecting and 
making use of materials for that work which was to give glory 
to his name. 

It was only by perseverance, and disregarding many rough 


10 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


and discouraging receptions, that he succeeded in making 
acquaintance with Rousseau, whom he so much resembled. 
St. Pierre devoted himself to his society with enthusiasm, 
visiting him frequently and constantly, till Rousseau departed 
for Ermenonville. It is not unworthy of remark, that both 
these men, such enthusiastic admirers of Nature and the 
natural in all things, should have possessed factitious rather 
than practical virtue, and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the 
world. St. Pierre asked Rosseau, in one of their frequent 
rambles, if in delineating St. Preux, he had not intended to 
represent himself. “ No,” replied Rousseau, “ St. Preux is 
not what I have been, but what I wished to be.” St. Pierre 
would most likely have given the same answer, had a similar 
question been put to him with regard to the Colonel in “ Paul 
and Virginia.” This at least, appears the sort of old age he 
loved to contemplate and wished to realize. 

For six years he worked at his “ Etudes,” and with some 
difficulty found a publisher for them. M. Didot, a celebrated 
typographer, whose daughter St. Pierre afterwards married, 
consented to print a manuscript which had been declined by 
many others. He was well rewarded for the undertaking. 
The success of the “Etudes de la Nature” surpassed the 
most sanguine expectation, even of the author. Four years 
after its publication, St. Pierre gave to the world “ Paul and 
Virginia,” which had for some time been lying in his portfolio. 
He had tried its effect, in manuscript, on persons of different 
characters and pursuits. They had given him no applause ; 
but all had shed tears at its perusal ; and perhaps few works 
of a decidedly romantic character have ever been so generally 
read, or so much approved. Among the great names whose 
admiration of it is on record, may be mentioned Napoleon 
and Humboldt. 

In 1789, he published “ Les Voeux d’un Solitaire,” and 
“ La Suite des Voeux.” By the Moniteur of the day, these 
works were compared to the celebrated pamphlet of Sieyes, — 
“ Qu’est-ce que le tiers etat ? ” which then absorbed all the 
public favor. In 1791, “La Chaumiere Indienne ” was 
published ; and in the following year, about thirteen days 
before the celebrated 10th of August, Louis XVI, appointed 
St. Pierre superintendent of the “Jardin des Plantes.” 
Soon afterwards, the King on seeing him, complimented 
him on his writings, and told him he was happy to have 
found a worthy successor to Buffon. 

Although deficient in the exact knowledge of the sciences, 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


n 


and knowing little of the world, St. Pierre was, by his sym- 
plicity, and the retirement in which he lived, well suited, at 
that epoch, to the situation. About this time, and when in 
his fifty-seventh year, he married Mile. Didot. 

In 1795, he became a member of the French Academy, 
and, as was just, after his acceptance of this honor, he wrote 
no more against literary societies. On the suppression of his 
place he retired to Essonne. It is delightful to follow him 
there, and to contemplate his quiet existence. His days 
flowed on peaceably, occupied in the publication of “Les 
Harmonies de la Nature,” the republication of his earlier 
works, and the compositition of some lesser pieces. He 
himself affectingly regrets an interruption to these occupa- 
tions. On being appointed Instructor to the Normal School, 
he says, “ I am obliged to hang my harp on the willows of 
my river, and to accept an employment useful to my family 
and my country. I am afflicted at having to suspend an occu- 
pation which has given me so much happiness and pleasure.” 

He enjoyed in his old age a degree of opulence which, as 
much as glory, had perhaps been the object of his ambition. 
In any case, it is gratifying to reflect, that after a life so full of 
chance and change, he was, in his latter years, surrounded by 
much that should accompany old age. His day of storms and 
tempests was closed by an evening of repose and beauty. 

Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of his mind was 
^reserved to the last. He died at Eragny sur l’Oise, on the 
2 1 st of January, 1814. The stirring events which then occu- 
pied France, or rather the whole world, caused his death to be 
little noticed at the time. The Academy did not, however, 
neglect to give him the honor due to its members. Mons. 
Parseval Grand Maison pronounced a deserved eulogium on 
his talents, and Mons. Aignan, also, the customary tribute, 
taking his seat as his successor. 

Having himself contracted the habit of confiding his griefs 
and sorrows to the public, the sanctuary of his private life was 
open alike to the discussion of friends and enemies. The 
biographer, who wishes to be exact, and yet set down nought 
in malice, is forced to the contemplation of his errors. The 
secret of many of these, as well as of his miseries, seems re- 
vealed by himself in this .sentence : “ I experience more pain 
from a single thorn, than pleasure from a thousand roses.” 
And elsewhere, “ The best society seems to me bad, if I find 
in it one troublesome, wicked, slanderous, envious, or perfidi- 
ous person.” Now, taking into consideration that St. Pierre 


12 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


sometimes imagined persons who were really good, to be de- 
serving of these strong and very contumacious epithets, it 
would have been difficult indeed to find a society in which he 
could have been happy. He was therefore wise in seeking 
retirement, and indulging in solitude. His mistakes, — for they 
were mistakes, — arose from a too quick perception of evil, 
united to an exquisite and diffuse sensibility. When he felt 
wounded by a thorn, he forgot the beauty and perfume of the 
rose to which it belonged, and from which perhaps it could 
not be separated. And he was exposed (as often happens) to 
the very description of trials that were least in harmony with 
his defects. Few dispositions could have run a career like his, 
and have remained unscathed. But one less tender than his 
own would have been less soured by it. For many years, he 
bore about with him the conciousness of unacknowledged 
talent. The world cannot be blamed for not appreciating that 
which had never been revealed. But we know not what the 
jostling and elbowing of that world, in the mean time, may 
have been to him — how often he may have felt himself un- 
worthily treated — or how far that treatment may have preyed 
upon and corroded his heart. Who shall say that with this 
consciousness there did not mingle a quick and instinctive 
perception of the hidden motives of action, — that he did not 
sometimes detect, where others might have been blind, the 
under-shuffling of the hands, in the by-play of the world ? 

Through all his writings, and throughout his correspon- 
dence, there are beautiful proofs of the tenderness of his 
feelings, — the most essential quality, perhaps, in any writer. 
It is at least one that if not possessed, can never be attained. 
The familiarity of his imagination with natural objects, when 
he was living far removed from them, is remarkable, and 
often affecting. 

“ I have arranged,” he says to Mr. Henin, his friend and 
patron, “ very interesting materials, but it is only with the light 
of Heaven over me that I can recover my strength. Obtain 
for me a rabbit's hole , in which I may pass the summer in the 
country.” And again, “ With the first-violet, I shall come to 
see you.” It is soothing to find, in passages like these, such 
pleasing and convincing evidence that 

“ Nature never did betray, 

The heart that loved her.” 

In the noise of a great city, in the midst of annoyances of 
many kinds, these images, impressed with quietness and 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


13 


beauty, came back to the mind of St. Pierre, to cheer and 
animate him. 

In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to quote a passage 
from his “ Voyage,” which reveals his fond remembrance of 
his native land. “ I should ever prefer my own country to 
every other,” he says, “ not because it was more beautiful, but 
because I was brought up in it. Happy he, who sees again 
the places where all was loved, and all was lovely ! — the mead- 
ows in which he played, and the orchard that he robbed ! ” 

He returned to this country, so fondly loved and deeply 
cherished in absence, to experience only trouble and difficulty. 
Away from it, he had yearned to behold it, — to fold it, as it 
were, once more to his bosom. He returned to feel as if 
neglected by it, and all his rapturous emotions were changed 
to bitterness and gall. His hopes had proved delusions — his 
expectations, mockeries. Oh ! who but must look with charity 
and mercy on all discontent and irritation consequent on such 
a depth of disappointment : on what must have then appeared 
to him such unmitigable woe. Under the influence of these 
saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back to the island he had 
left, to place all beauty, as well as all happiness there ! 

One great proof that he did beautify the distant, may be 
found in the contrast of some of the descriptions in the “ Voyage 
a Tile de France,” and those in “ Paul and Virginia.” That 
spot, which when peopled by the cherished creatures of his 
imagination, he described as an enchanting and delightful 
Eden, he had previously spoken of as a “ rugged country cov- 
ered with rocks,” — “ a land of cyclops blackened by fire.” 
Truth, probably,* lies between the two representations ; the 
sadness of exile having darkened the one, and the exuberance 
of his imagination embellished the other. 

St. Pierre’s merit as an author has been too long and too 
universally acknowledged, to make it needful that it should 
be dwelt on here. A careful review of the circumstances of 
his life induces the belief, that his writings grew (if it may be 
permitted so to speak) out of his life. In his most imaginative 
passages, to whatever height his fancy soared, the starting point 
seems ever from a fact. The past appears to have been always 
spread out before him when he wrote, like a beautiful land- 
scape, on which his eye rested with complacency, and from 
which his mind transferred and idealized some objects, without 
a servile imitation of any. When at Berlin, he had had it in 
his power to marry Virginia Tabenheim ; and in Russia, 
Mile, de la Tour, the neice of General Dubosquet, would have 


14 


MEMOIR OF BERNARD IN DE ST. PIERRE. 


accepted his hand. He was to poor to marry either. A 
greatful recollection caused him to bestow the names of the 
two on his most beloved creation. Paul was the name of 
a friar, with whom he had associated in his childhood, and 
whose life he wished to imitate. How little had the owners 
of these names anticipated that they were to become the 
baptismal appellations of half a generation in France, and 
to be re-echoed through the world to the end of time ! 

It was St. Pierre who first discovered the poverty of language 
with regard to picturesque descriptions. In his earliest work, 
the often-quoted “Voyage,” he complains that the terms for 
describing nature are not yet invented. “ Endeavor,” he says, 
“ to describe a mountain in such a manner that it may be 
recognized. When you have spoken of its base, its sides, its 
summit, you have said all ! But what variety there is to be 
found in those swelling, lengthened, flattened, or cavernous 
forms ! It is only by periphrasis that all this can be expressed. 
The same difficulty exists for plains and valleys. But if you 
have a palace to describe, there is no longer any difficulty. 
Every moulding has its appropriate name. 

It was St. Pierre’s glory, in some degree, to triumph over 
this dearth of expression. Few authors ever introduced more 
new terms into descriptive writing: yet are his innovations 
ever chastened, and in good taste. His style, in its elegant 
simplicity, is, indeed, perfection. It is at once sonorous and 
sweet, and always in harmony with the sentiment he would 
express, or the subject he would discuss. Chenier might well 
arm himself with “ Paul and Virginia ” and the “ Chaumiere 
Indienne,” in opposition to those writers, who, as he said, 
made prose unnatural, by seeking to elevate it into verse. 

The “ Etudes de la Nature ” embraced a thousand different 
subjects, and contained some new ideas on all. It is to the 
honor of human nature, that after the uptearing of so many 
sacred opinions, a production like this, revealing the chain of 
connections through the works of Creation, and the Creator 
ip his works, should have been hailed, as it was, with en- 
thusiasm. 

His motto, from his favorite poet Virgil, “ Taught by ca- 
lamity, I pitv the unhappy,” won for him, perhaps, many 
readers. And in its touching illusions, the unhappy may have 
found suspension from the realities of life, as well as encour- 
agement to support its trials. For, throughout, it infuses ad- 
miration of the arrangements of providence, and a desire for 
virtue. More than one modern poet may be supposed to have 


MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 


T 5 


drawn a portion of his inspiration, from the “ Etudes.” As a 
work of science it contains many errors. These, particularly 
his theory of the tides,* St. Pierre maintained to the last, and 
so eloquently, that it was said at the time, to be impossible to 
unite less reason with more logic. 

In “Paul and Virginia,” he was supremely fortunate in his 
subject. It was an entirely new creation, uninspired by any 
previous work ; but which gave birth to many others, having 
furnished the plot to six theatrical pieces. It was a subject 
to which the author could bring all his excellences as a writer 
and man, while his deficiencies and defects were necessarily 
excluded. In no manner could he incorporate politics, science, 
or misapprehension of persons, while his sensibility, morals, 
and wonderful talent for description, were in perfect accord- 
ance with, and ornaments to it. Lemontey and Sainte-Beuve 
both consider success to be inseparable from the happy 
selection of a story so entirely in harmony with the character 
of the author; and that the most successful writers might 
envy him so fortunate a choice. Bonaparte was in the habit 
of saying, whenever he saw St. Pierre, “ M. Bernardin, when 
do you mean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and Indian 
Cottages ? You ought to give us some every six months.” 

The “ Indian Cottage,” if not quite equal in interest to 
“ Paul and Virginia,” is still a charming production, and does 
great honor to the genius of its author. It abounds in antique 
and Eastern gems of thought. Striking and excellent com- 
parisons are scattered through its pages ; and it is delightful 
to reflect, that the following beautiful and solemn answer of the 
Paria was, with St. Pierre, the result of his own experience : — 
“ Misfortune resembles the Black Mountain of Bember, situated 
at the extremity of the burning kingdom of Lahore ; while 
you are climbing it, you only see before you barren rocks ; 
but when you have reached its summit, you see heaven above 
your head, and at your feet the kingdom of Cachemere.” 

When this passage was written, the rugged and sterile rock 
had been climbed by its gifted author. He had reached the 
summit, — his genius had been rewarded, and he himself saw 
the heaven he wished to point out to others. Sarah Jones. 


*** For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, I am indebted to St. Pierre’s 
own works, to the “ Biographie Universelle,” to the “ Essai sur la Vie et les Ouvrages 
de Bernardin de St. Pierre,” by M. Aime Martin, and to the very excellent and in- 
teresting “ Notice Historique et Litteraire,” of M. Sainte-Beuve. 

* Occasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melting of the ice at the Poles. 



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PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


Situate on the eastern side of the mountain which rises 
' above Port Louis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bear' 
ing the marks of former cultivation, are seen the ruins of two 
small cottages. These ruins are Jiot far from the center of a 
valley, formed by immense rocks, and which opens only to- 
wards the north. On the left rises the mountain called the 
Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the distant sail 
when it first touches the verge of the horizon, and whence the 
signal is given when a vessel approaches the island. At the 
foot of this mountain stands the town of Port Louis. On the 
right is formed the road v r hich stretches from Port Louis to 
the Shaddock Grove, wdiere the church bearing that name 
lifts its head, surrounded by the avenues of bamboo, in the 
middle of a spacious plain ; and the prospect terminates in 
a forest extending to the furthest bounds of the island. The 
froilt view presents the bay, denominated the Bay of the 
Tomb ; a little on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune ; 
and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the surface of which 
appear a few uninhabited islands ; and, among others, the 
Point of Endeavor, which resembles a bastion built upon the 
flood. 

At the entrance of the valley which presents these various 
objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the 
hollow murmurs of the winds that shake the neighboring for- 
ests, and the tumultuous dashing of the waves which break at 
a distance upon the cliffs ; but near the ruined cottages all is 
calm and still, and the only objects which there meet the eye 
are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding rampart. 
Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on their lifted sides, 
and even on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to re- 
2 


i8 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


pose. The showers, which their bold points attract, often 
paint the vivid colors of the rainbow on their green and 
brown declevities, and swell the sources of the little river 
which flows at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms. 
Within the inclosure reigns the most profound silence. The 
waters, the air, all the elements are at peace. Scarcely does 
the echo repeat the whispers of the palm-trees, spreading their 
broad leaves, the long points of which are gently agitated by 
the winds. A soft light illumines the bottom of this deep 
valley, on which the sun shines only at noon. But, even at 
break of day, the rays of light are thrown on the surrounding 
rocks ; and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the 
mountain, appear like tints of' gold and purple gleaming upon 
the azure sky. 

To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at 
once the richness of an unbounded landscape, and the charm 
of uninterrupted solitude. One day, when I was seated at 
the foot of the cottages, and contemplating their ruins, a man, 
advanced in years, passed near the'spot. He was dressed in 
the ancient garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he 
leaned upon a staff of ebony : his hair was white, and the ex- 
pression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I 
bowed to him with respect ; he returned the salutation ; and, 
after looking at me with some earnestness, came and placed 
himself upon the hillock on which I was seated. Encouraged 
by this mark of confidence I thus addressed him : “ Father, 

can you tell me to whom those cottages once belonged ? ” — 
“ My son,” replied the old man, “ those heaps of rubbish, 
and that untilled land, were, twenty years ago, the property 
of two families, who then found happiness in this solitude. 
Their history is affecting ; but what European, pursuing his 
way to the Indies, will pause one moment to interest himself 
in the fate of a few obscure individuals ? What European 
can picture happiness to his imagination amidst poverty and 
neglect ? The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by the 
history of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use 
can be derived.”— “ Father,” I rejoined, “from your manner 
and your observation, I perceive that you have acquired much 
experience of human life. If you have leisure, relate to me, 
I beseech you, the history of the ancient inhabitants of this 
desert ; and be assured, that even the men who are most per- 
verted by the prejudices of the world, find a soothing pleasure 
in contemplating that happiness which belongs to simplicity 
and virtue.” The old man, after a short silence, during 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


19 


which he leaned his face upon his hands, as if he were try- 
ing to recall the images of the past, thus began his narra- 
tion : — 

Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of 
Normandy, after having in vain solicited a commission in the 
French army, or some support from his own family, at length 
determined to seek his fortune in this island, where he arrived 
in 1726. He brought hither a young woman, whom he loved 
tenderly, and by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She 
belonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province : 
but he had married her secretly and without fortune, and in 
opposition to the will of her relations, who refused their con- 
sent because, he was found guilty of being descended from 
parents who had no claims to nobility. Monsieur de la Tour, 
leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in 
order to purchase a few slaves, to assist him in forming a 
plantation on this island. He landed at Madagascar during 
that unhealthy season which commences about the middle of 
October ; and soon after his arrival died of the pestilential 
fever, which prevails in that island six months of the year, 
and which will forever baffle the attempts of the European 
nations to form establishments on that fatal soil. His 
effects were seized upon by the rapacity of strangers, as com- 
monly happens to persons dying in foreign parts ; and his 
wife, who was pregnant, found herself a widow in a country 
where she had neither credit nor acquaintance, and no earthly 
possession, or rather support, but one negro woman. Too 
delicate to solicit protection or relief from any one else after 
the death of him whom alone she loved, misfortune armed 
her with courage, and she resolved to cultivate, with her slave, 
a little spot of ground, and procure for herself the means of 
subsistence. 

Desert as was the island, and the ground left to the choice 
of the settler, she avoided those spots which were most fertile 
and most favorable to commerce : seeking some nook of the 
mountain, some secret asylum where she might live solitary 
- and unknown, she bent her way from the town towards these 
rocks, where she might conceal herself from observation. All 
sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort of common in- 
stinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to haunts the most 
wild and desolate ; as if rocks could form a rampart against 
misfortune — as if the calm of nature could hush the tumults 
of the soul. That Providence, which lends its support when 
we ask but the supply of our necessary wants, had a blessing 


20 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


in reserve for Madame de la Tour, which neither riches nor 
greatness can purchase : — this blessing was a friend. 

The spot to which Madame de la Tour had fled had already 
been inhabited for a year by a young woman of a lively, good- 
natured and affectionate disposition. Margaret (for that was 
her name) was born in Brittany, of a family of peasants, by 
whom she was cherished and beloved, and with whom she 
might have passed through life in simple rustic happiness, if, 
mislead by the weakness of a tender heart, she had not listen- 
ed to the passion of a gentleman in the neighborhood, who 
promised her marriage. He soon abandoned her, and adding 
inhumanity to seduction, refused to insure a provision for the 
child of which she was pregnant. Margaret then determined 
to leave forever her native village, and retire, where her fault 
might be concealed, to some colony distant from that country 
where she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant girl — 
her reputation. With some borrowed money she purchased 
an old negro slave, with whom she cultivated a little corner of 
this district. 

Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro woman, came to 
this spot, where she found Margaret engaged in suckling her 
child. Soothed and charmed by the sight of a person in a sit- 
uation somewhat similar to her own, Madame de la Tour rela- 
ted, in a few words, her past_condition and her present wants. 
Margaret was deeply affected by the recital ; and more anx- 
ious to merit confidence than to create esteem, she confessed 
without disguise, the errors of which she had been guilty. 

“ As for me,” said she, “ I deserve my fate : but you, madam 
— you ! at once virtuous and unhappy ” — and, sobbing, she 
offered Madame de la Tour both her hut and her friendship. 
That lady, affected by this tender reception, pressed her in 
her arms, and exclaimed, — “ Ah, surely Heaven has put an 
end to my misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I am a 
•stranger, with more goodness toward me than I have ever ex- 
perienced from my own relations ! ” 

I was acquainted with Margaret : and, although my habita- 
tion is a league and a half from hence, in the woods behind 
that sloping mountain, I considered myself as her neighbor. 
In the cities of Europe, a street, even a simple wall, frequent- 
ly prevents members of the same family from meeting for 
years ; but in new colonies we consider those persons as 
neighbors from whom we are divided only by woods and 
mountains ; and above all at that period, when this island had 
little intercourse with the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


21 


to friendship, and hospitality towards strangers seemed less a 
duty than a pleasure. No sooner was I informed that Margaret 
had found a companion, than I hastened to her, in the hope 
of being useful to my neighbor and her guest. I found 
Madame de la Tour possessed of all those melancholy graces 
which, by blending sympathy with admiration gave to beauty 
additional power. Her countenance was interesting, expres- 
sive at once of dignity and dejection. She appeared to be in 
the last stage of her pregnancy. I told the two friends that 
for the future interest of their children, and to prevent the 
intrusion of any other settler, they had better divide between 
them the property of this wild, sequestered valley, which is 
nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task to me, 
and I marked out two equal portions of land. One included 
the higher part of this inclosure, from the cloudy pinnacle of 
that rock, whence springs the river of Fan-Palms, to that pre- 
cipitous cleft which you see on the summit of the mountain, 
and which, from its resemblance in form to the battlement of 
a fortress, is called the Embrasure. It is difficult to find a 
path along this wild portion of the enclosure, the soil of which 
is encumbered with fragments of rock, or worn into channels 
formed by torrents ; yet it produces noble trees, and innumer- 
able springs and rivulets. The other portion of land com- 
prised the plain extending along the banks of the river of 
Fan-Palms, to the opening where we are now seated, whence 
the river takes its course between those two hills, until it falls 
into the sea. You may still trace the vestiges of some mead- 
ow land ; and this part of the common is less rugged, but not 
more valuable than the other ; since in the rainy season it be- 
comes marshy, and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding, 
that it will almost resist the stroke of a pickaxe. When I 
had thus divided the property, I persuaded my neighbors to 
draw lots for their respective possessions. The higher por- 
tion of land, containing the source of the river of Fan-Palms, 
became the property of Madame de la Tour ; the lower, com- 
prising the plain on the banks of the river, was allotted to 
Margaret ; and each seemed satisfied with her share. They 
entreated me to place their habitations together, that they 
might at all times enjoy the soothing intercourse of friendship, 
and the consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret’s cot- 
tage was situated near the centre of the valley, and just on 
the boundary of her own plantation. Close to that spot I 
built another cottage for the residence of Madame de la Tour ; 
and thus the two friends, while they possessed all the advan- 


22 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


tages of neighborhood, lived on their own property. I my- 
self cut palisades from the mountain, and brought leaves of 
fan-palms from the sea-shore in order to construct those two 
cottages, of which you can now discern neither the entrance 
nor the roof. Yet, alas ! there still remain but too many traces 
for my remembrance ! Time, which so rapidly destroys 
the proud monuments of empires, seems in this desert to 
spare those of friendship, as if to perpetuate my regrets to 
the last hour of my existence. 

As soon as the second cottage was finished, Madame de la 
Tour was delivered of a girl. I had been the godfather of 
Margaret’s child, who was christened by the name of Paul. 
Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the same office for 
her child also, together with her friend, who gave her the 
name of Virginia. “ She will be virtuous,” cried Margaret, 
“ and she will be happy. I have only known misfortune by 
wandering from virtue.” 

About the time Madame de la Tour recovered, these two 
little estates had already begun to yield some produce, per- 
haps in a small degree owing to the care which I occasionally 
bestowed on their improvement, but far more to the indefati- 
gable labors of the two slaves. Margaret’s slave, who was 
called Domingo, was still healthy and robust, though advanced 
in years : he possessed some knowledge, and a good natural 
understanding. He cultivated indiscriminately, on both 
plantations, the spots of ground that seemed most fertile, and 
sowed whatever grain he thought most congenial to each par- 
ticular soil. Where the ground was poor, he strewed maize ; 
where it was most fruitful, he planted wheat ; and rice in 
such spots as were marshy. He threw the seeds of gourds 
and cucumbers at the foot of the rocks, which they loved to 
climb and decorate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots 
he cultivated the sweet potato ; the cotton tree flourished 
upon the heights, and the sugar-cane grew in the clayey soil. 
He reared some plants of coffee on the hills, where the grain, 
although small, is excellent. His plantain-trees, which spread 
their grateful shade on the banks of the river, and encircled 
the cottages, yielded fruit throughout the year. And lastly, 
Domingo, to soothe his cares, cultivated a few plants of 
tobacco. Sometimes he was employed in cutting wood for 
firing from the mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces of rock 
within the enclosure, in order to level the paths. The zeal 
which inspired him enabled him to perform all these labors 
with intelligence and activity. He was much attached to 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


2 3 


Margaret, and not less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro 
woman, Mary, he had married on the birth of Virginia ; and 
he was passionately fond of his wife. Mary was born at 
Madagascar, and had there acquired the knowledge of some 
useful arts. She could weave baskets, and a sort of stuff, 
with long grass that grows in the woods. She was active, 
cleanly, and, above all, faithful. It was her care to prepare 
their meals, to rear the poultry, and go sometimes to Port 
Louis, to sell the superfluous produce of these little planta- 
tions, which was not, however, very considerable. If you add 
to the personages already mentioned, two goats which were 
brought up with the children, and a great dog, which kept 
watch at night, you will have a complete idea of the house- 
hold, as well as of the productions of these two little farms. 

Madame de la Tour and her friend were constantly em- 
ployed in spinning cotton for the use of their families. Desti- 
tute of everything which their own industry could not supply, 
at home they went barefooted : shoes were a convenience re- 
served for Sunday, on which day, at an early hour, they at- 
tended mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, which you 
see yonder. That church was more distant from their homes 
than Port Louis ; but they seldom visited the town, lest they 
should be treated with contempt on account of their dress, 
which consisted simply of the coarse blue linen of Bengal, 
usually worn by slaves, But is there, in that external defer- 
ence which fortune commands, a compensation for domestic 
happiness ? If these interesting women had something to suf- 
fer from the world, their homes on that very account became 
more dear to them. No sooner did Mary and Domingo, 
from his elevated spot, perceive their mistresses on the road 
of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew to the foot of the 
mountain in order to help them to ascend. They discerned 
in the looks of their domestics the joy which their return ex- 
cited. They found in their retreat neatness, independence, 
all the blessings which are the recompense of toil, and they 
received the zealous services which spring from affection. 
United by the tie of similar wants, and the sympathy of 
similar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender names of 
companion, friend, sister. They had but one will, one inter- 
est, one table. All their possessions were in common. And 
if sometimes a passion more ardent than friendship awakened 
in their hearts the pang of unavailing anguish, a pure religion 
united with chaste manners, drew their affections towards 


24 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


another life : as the trembling flame rises towards heaven, 
when it no longer finds any aliment on earth. 

The duties of maternity became a source of additional hap- 
piness to these affectionate mothers, whose mutual friendship 
gained new strength at the sight of their children, equally the 
offspring of an ill-fated attachment. They delighted in wash- 
ing their infants together in the same bath, in putting them to 
rest in the same cradle, and in changing the maternal bosom 
at which they received nourishment. ” My friend,” cried 
Madame de la Tour, “ we shall each of us have two children, 
and each of our children will have two mothers.” As two buds 
which remain on different trees of the same kind, after the 
tempest has broken all their branches, produce more delicious 
fruit, if each, separated from the maternal stem, be grafted on 
the neighboring tree, so these to infants, deprived of all their 
other relations, when thus exchanged for nourishment by 
those who had given them birth, imbibed feelings of affection 
still more tender than those of son and daughter, brother and 
sister. While they were yet in their cradles, their mothers 
talked of their marriage. They soothed their own cares by 
looking forward to the future happiness of their children ; but 
this contemplation often drew forth their tears. The mis- 
fortunes of one mother had arisen from having neglected 
marriage ; those of the other for having submitted to its laws. 
One had suffered by aiming to rise above her condition, the 
other by descending from her rank. But they found con- 
solation in reflecting that their more fortunate children, far 
from the cruel prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at once the 
pleasures of love and the blessings of equality. 

Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been seen as that 
which the two children already testified for each other. If 
Paul complained of anything, his mother pointed to Virginia : 
at her sight he smiled, and was appeased. If any accident 
befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster ; 
but the dear little creature would suppress her complaints if 
she found that he was unhappy. When I came hither, I 
usually found them quite naked, as is the custom of the 
country, tottering in their walk, and holding each other by 
the hands and under the arms, as we see represented the 
constellation of the Twins. At night these infants often re- 
fused to be separated, and were found lying in the same cradle, 
their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together, their hands 
thrown round each other’s neck, and sleeping, locked in one 
another’s arms. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA , 


25 


When they began to speak, the first name they learned to 
give each other were those of brother and sister, and childhood 
knows no softer appellation. Their education, by directing 
them ever to consider each other’s wants, tended greatly to in- 
crease their affection. In a short time, all the household 
economy, the care of preparing their rural repasts, became the 
task of Virginia, whose labors were always crowned with the 
praises and kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always in 
motion, he dug the garden with Domingo, or followed him 
with a little hatchet into the woods ; and if in his rambles he 
espied a beautiful flower, any delicious fruit, or a nest of birds, 
even at the top of the tree, he would climb up and bring the 
spoil to his sister. When you met one of these children, you 
might be sure the other was not far off. 

One day as I was coming down that mountain, I saw Vir- 
ginia at the end of the garden running towards the house with 
her petticoat thrown over her head, in order to screen herself 
from a shower of rain. At a distance, I thought she was 
alone ; but as I hastened towards her in order to help her on, 
I perceived she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely envel- 
oped in the same canopy, and both were laughing heartily at 
their being sheltered together under an umbrella of their own 
invention. Those two charming faces in the middle of a 
swelling petticoat, recalled to my mind the children of Leda, 
enclosed in the same shell. 

Their sole study was how they could please and assist one 
another ; for of all other things they were ignorant, and in- 
deed could neither read nor write. They were never dis- 
turbed by inquiries about past times, nor did their curiosity 
extend beyond the bounds of their mountain. They believed 
the world ended at the shores of their own island, and all 
their ideas and all their effections were confined within its 
limits. Their mutual tenderness, and that of their mothers, 
employed all the energies of their minds. Their tears had 
never been called forth by tedious application to useless 
sciences. Their minds had never been wearied by lessons of 
morality, superfluous to bosoms unconscious of ill. They had 
never been taught not to steal, because everything with them 
was in common : or not to be intemperate, because their sim- 
ple food was left to their own discretion ; or not to lie, be- 
cause they had nothing to conceal. Their young imaginations 
had never been terrified by the idea that God has punishment 
in store for ungrateful children, since with them, filial affec- 
tion arose naturally from maternal tenderness. All they had 


26 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

been taught of religion was to love it, and if they did not 
offer up long prayers in the church, wherever they were, in the 
house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised towards heaven 
their innocent hands, and hearts purified by virtuous af- 
fections. 

All their early childhood passed thus, like a beautiful dawn, 
the prelude of a bright day. Already they assisted their 
mothers in the duties of the household. As soon as the crow- 
ing of the wakeful cock announced the first beam of the 
morning, Virginia arose, and hastened to draw water from a 
neighboring spring : then returning to the house she prepared 
the breakfast. When the rising sun gilded the points of the 
rocks which overhang the enclosure in which they lived, Mar- 
garet and her child repaired to the dwelling of Madame de la 
Tour, where they offered up their morning prayer together. 
This sacrifice of thanksgiving always preceded their first 
repast, which they often took before the door of the cottage, 
seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plantain : and while 
the branches of that delicious tree afforded a grateful shade, 
its fruit furnished a substantial food ready prepared for them 
by nature, and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, 
supplied the place of linen. Plentiful and wholesome nour- 
ishment gave early growth and vigor to the persons of these 
children, and their countenances expressed the purity and 
peace of their souls. At twelve years of age the figure of Vir- 
ginia was in some degree formed ; a profusion of light hair 
shaded her face, to which her blue eyes and coral lips gave 
the most charming brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivac- 
ity when she spoke ; but when she was silent they were habit- 
ually turned upwards with an expression of extreme sensi- 
bility, or rather of tender melancholy. The figure of Paul 
began already to display the graces of youthful beauty. He 
was taller than Virginia : his skin was a darker tint ; his nose 
more aquiline ; and his black eyes would have been too 
piercing, if the long eyelashes by which they were shaded, had 
not imparted to them an expression of softness. He was 
constantly in motion, except when his sister appeared, and 
then, seated by her side, he became still. Their meals often 
passed without a word being spoken ; and from their silence, 
the simple elegance of their attitudes, and the beauty of their 
naked feet, you might have fancied you beheld an antique 
group of white marble, representing some of the children of 
Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, which were con- 
stantly seeking to meet, and their mutual soft and tender 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


2 7 


smiles, which suggested rather the idea of happy celestial 
spirits, whose nature is love, and who are not obliged to have 
recourse to words for the expression of their feelings. 

In the mean time Madame de la Tour, perceiving every 
day some unfolding grace, some new beauty, in her daughter, 
felt her maternal anxiety increase with her tenderness. She 
often said to me, “ if I were to die, what will become of Vir- 
ginia without fortune ? ” 

Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, who was a 
woman of quality, rich, old, and a complete devotee. She 
had behaved with so much cruelty towards her neice upon her 
marriage, that Madame de la Tour had determined no ex- 
tremity of distress should ever compel her to have recourse to 
her hard-hearted relation. But when she became a mother, 
the pride of resentment was overcome by the stronger feelings 
of maternal tenderness. She wrote to her aunt, informing 
her of the sudden death of her husband, and the birth of her 
daughter, and the difficulties in which she was involved, bur- 
dened as she was with an infant, and without means of sup- 
port. She received no answer ; but notwithstanding the high 
spirit natural to her character, she no longer feared exposing 
herself to mortification ; and, although she knew her aunt 
would never pardon her for having married a man who was 
not of noble birth, however estimable, she continued to write 
to her, with the hope of awakening her compassion for Vir- 
ginia. Many years, however, passed without receiving any 
token of her remembrance. 

At length, in 1738, three years after the arrival of Mon- 
sieur de la Bourdennais in this island, Madame de la Tour 
was informed that the Governor had a letter to give her from 
her aunt. She flew to Port Louis ; maternal joy raised her 
mind above trifling considerations, and she was careless on 
this occasion of appearing in her homely attire. Monsieur 
de la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, in which 
she informed her, that she deserved her fate for marrying an 
adventurer and libertine : that the passions brought with them 
their own punishment ; that the premature death of -her hus- 
band was a just visitation from Heaven ; that she had done 
well in going to a distant island, rather than dishonor her 
family by remaining in France ; and that, after all, in the col- 
ony where she had taken refuge, none but the idle failed to 
grow rich. Having thus censured her niece, she concluded 
by eulogizing herself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevit- 
able evils of marriage, she had determined to remain single. 


28 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


In fact, as she was of a very ambitious disposition, she had 
resolved to marry none but a man of high rank ; but 
although she was very rich, her fortune was not found a suf- 
ficient bribe, even at court, to counterbalance the malignant 
dispositions of her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her 
person. 

After mature deliberations, she added in a postscript, that 
she had strongly recommended her niece to Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais. This she had indeed done, but in a manner of 
late too common, which renders a patron perhaps even more 
to be feared than a declared enemy; for, in order to justify 
herself for her harshness, she had cruelly slandered her niece, 
while she affected to pity her misfortunes. 

Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could 
have seen without feelings of sympathy and respect, was re- 
ceived with the utmost coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdon- 
nais, biased as he was against her. When she painted to him 
her own situation and that of her child, he replied in abrupt 
sentences,— ^AVe will see what can be done — there are so 
many to relieve — all in good time — why did you displease 
your aunt ? — you have been much to blame.” 

Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her heart torn 
with grief, and filled with all the bitterness of disappointment. 
When she arrived she threw her aunt’s letter on the table, 
and exclaimed to her friend, “ There is the fruit of eleven 
years of patient expectation ! ” Madame de la Tour being 
the only person in the little circle who could read, she again 
took up the letter, and read it aloud. Scarcely had she 
finished, when Margaret exclaimed, “ What have we to do 
with your relations ? Has God then forsaken us ? He only 
is our father ! Have we not hitherto been happy ? Why 
then this regret ? You have no courage.” Seeing Madame 
de la Tour in tears, she threw herself upon her neck, and 
pressing her in her arms, — “ My dear friend ! ” cried she, 
“ my dear friend ! ” — but her emotion choked her utterance. 
At this sight, Virginia burst into tears, and pressed her 
mother’s and Margaret’s hands alternately to her lips and 
heart ; while Paul, his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, clasp- 
ing his hands together, and stamping with his foot, not know- 
ing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise soon 
brought Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habita- 
tion resounded with cries of distress, — “ Ah, madame 1 — My 
good mistress ! — My dear mother ! — Do not weep ! ” These 
tender proofs of affection at length dispelled the grief of 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


29 


Madame de la Tour. She took Paul and Virginia in her 
arms, and, embracing them, said, “ You are the cause of my 
affliction, my children, but you are also my only source of 
delight! Yes, my dear children, misfortune has reached me, 
but only from a distance : here I am surrounded with happi- 
ness.” Paul and Virginia did not understand this reflection ; 
but when they saw that she was calm, they smiled, and con- 
tinued to caress her. Tranquility was thus restored in this 
happy family, and all that had passed was but as a storm in 
the midst of fine weather, which disturbs the serenity of the 
atmosphere but for a short time, and then passes away. 

The amiable disposition of these children unfolded itself 
daily. One Sunday, at daybreak, their mothers having gone 
to mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, the children 
perceived a negro woman beneath the plantains which sur- 
rounded their habitation. She appeared almost wasted to a 
skeleton, and had no other garment than a piece of coarse 
cloth thrown around her. She threw herself at the feet of 
Virginia, who was preparing the family breakfast, and said, 
“ My good young lady, have pity on a poor runaway slave. 
For a whole month I have wandered among these mountains, 
half dead with hunger, and often pursued by the hunters and 
their dogs. I fled from my master, a rich planter of the Black 
River, who has used me as you see ; ” and she showed her 
body marked with scars from the lashes she had received. 
She added, “ I was going to drown myself, but hearing you 
lived here, I said to myself, “ Since there are still some good 
white people in this country, I need not die yet.” Virginia 
answered with emotion, — “ Take courage, unfortunate crea- 
ture ! here is something to eat ; ” and she gave her the break- 
fast she had been preparing, which the slave in a few minutes 
devoured. When her hunger was appeased, Virginia said to 
her, — “ Poor woman ! I should like to go and ask forgive- 
ness for you of your master. Surely the sight of you will 
touch him with pity. Will you show me the way ? ” — “ Angel 
of heaven ! ” answered the poor negro woman, “ I will follow 
you where you please ! ” Virginia called her brother, and 
begged him to accompany her. The slave led the way, by 
winding and difficult paths, through the woods, over moun- 
tains, which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, 
through which they were obliged to wade. At length, about 
the middle of the day, they reached the foot of a steep de- 
scent upon the borders of the Black River. There they per- 
ceived a well-built house, surrounded by extensive planta- 


30 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


tions, and a number of slaves employed in their various 
labors. Their master was walking among them with a pipe 
in his mouth, and a switch in his hand. He was a tall thin 
man, of a brown complexion ; his eyes were sunk in his head, 
and his dark eyebrows were joined in one. Virginia, holding 
Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much emotion begged 
him, for the love of God, to pardon his poor slave, who stood 
trembling a few paces behind. The planter at first paid little 
attention to the children, who, he saw, were meanly dressed. 
But when he observed the elegance of Virginia’s form, and 
the profusion of her beautiful light tresses which had escaped 
from beneath her blue cap ; when he heard the soft tone of 
her voice, which trembled, as well as her whole frame, while 
she implored his compassion ; he took the pipe from his 
mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible oath, 
that he pardoned his slave, not for the love of Heaven, but of 
her who asked his forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the 
slave to approach her master ; and instantly sprang away 
followed by Paul. 

They climbed up the steep they had descended ; and 
having gained the summit, seated themselves at the foot of a 
tree, overcome with fatigue, hunger and thirst. They had 
left their home fasting, and walked five leagues since sunrise. 
Paul said to Virginia, — “ My dear sister, it is past noon, and 
I am sure you are thirsty and hungry : we shall find no dinner 
here ; let us go down the mountain again, and ask the master 
of the poor slave for some food.” — “ Oh, no,” answered Vir- 
ginia, “ he frightens me too much. Remember what mamma 
sometimes says, ‘ The bread of the wicked is like stones in 
the mouth.’ ” — “ What shall we do then,” said Paul ; “ these 
trees produce no fruit fit to eat ; and I shall not be able to 
find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you.” — “ God will 
take care of us,” replied Virginia ; “ he listens to the cry 
even of the little birds when they ask him for food.” Scarcely 
had she pronounced these words when they heard the noise 
of water falling from a neighboring rock. They ran thither, 
and having quenched their thirst at this crystal spring, they 
gathered and ate a few cresses which grew on the border of 
the stream. Soon afterwards, while they were wandering 
backwards and forwards in search of more solid nourishment, 
Virginia perceived in the thickest part of the forest, a young 
palm-tree. The kind of cabbage which is found at the top of 
the palm, enfolded within its leaves, is well adapted for food ; 
but, although the stock of the tree is not thicker than a man’s 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


3i 

leg, it grows to above sixty feet in height The wood of the 
tree, indeed, is composed of very fine filaments ; but the bark 
is so hard that it turns the edge of the hatchet, and Paul was 
not furnished even with a knife. At length he thought of 
setting fire to the palm-tree ; but a new difficulty occurred ; 
he had no steel with which to strike fire ; and although the 
whole island is covered with rocks, I do not believe it is pos- 
sible to find a single flint. Necessity, however, is fertile in 
expedients, and the most -useful inventions have arisen from 
men placed in the most destitute situations. Paul determined 
to kindle a fire after the maimer of the negroes. With the 
sharp end of a stone he made a small hole in the branch of a 
tree that was quite dry, and which he held between his feet : 
he then, with the edge of the same stone, brought to a point 
another dry branch of a different sort of wood, and, after- 
wards, placing the piece of pointed wood in the small hole of 
the branch which he held with his feet and turning it rapidly 
between his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks of fire 
issued from the point of contact. Paul then heaped together 
dried grass and branches, and set fire to the foot of the palm- 
tree, which soon fell to the ground with a tremendous crash. 
The fire was further useful to him in stripping off the long, 
thick, and pointed leaves, within which the cabbage was 
inclosed. Having -thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit, they 
ate part of it raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which 
they found equally palatable. They made this frugal repast 
with delight, from the remembrance of the benevolent action 
they had performed in the morning : yet their joy was embit- 
tered by the thoughts of the uneasiness which their long 
absence from home would occasion their mothers. Virginia 
often recurred to this subject ; but Paul, who felt his strength 
renewed by their meal, assured her, that it would not be long 
before they reached home, and, by the assurance of their 
safety, tranquilized the minds of their parents. 

After dinner they were much embarrassed by the recollec- 
tion that they had now no guide, and that they were ignorant 
of the way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued by difficul- 
ties, said to Virginia, — “ The sun shines full upon our huts 
at noon ; we must pass, as we did this morning, over that 
mountain with its three points, which you see yonder. Come, 
let us be moving.” This mountain was that of the Three 
Breasts, so called from the form of its three peaks. They 
then descended the steep bank of the Black River, on the 
northern side; and* arrived, after an hour’s walk on the 


32 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

banks of a large river, which stopped their further progress. 
This large portion of the island, covered as it is with forests, 
is even now so little known that many of its rivers and moun- 
tains have not yet received a name. The stream, on the 
banks of which Paul and Virginia were now standing, rolls 
foaming over a bed of rocks. The noise of the water 
frightened Virginia, and she was afraid to wade through the 
current ; Paul therefore took her up in his arms, and went 
thus loaded over the slippery rocks, which formed the bed of 
the river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. “ Do 
not be afraid,” cried he, to Virginia ; “ I feel very strong 
with you. If that planter at the Black River had refused 
you the pardon of his slave, I would have fought with him.” 
— “ What ! ” answered Virginia, “ with that great wicked 
man ? To what have I exposed you ! Gracious heaven ! 
how difficult it is to do good ! and yet it is so easy to do 
wrong.” 

When Paul had crossed the river, he wished to continue the 
journey carrying his sister ; and he flattered himself that he 
could ascend in that way the mountain of the Three Breasts, 
which was still at the distance of half a league ; but his 
strength soon failed, and he was obliged to set down his 
burden, and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then said 
to him, “ My dear brother, the sun is going down ; you have 
still some strength left, but mine has quite failed ; do leave 
me here, and return home alone to ease the fears of our 
mothers.” — “ Oh no,” said Paul “ I will not leave you if 
night overtakes us in the wood. I will light a fire and bring 
down another palm-tree ; you shall eat the cabbage, and I will 
form a covering of the leaves to shelter you.” In the mean- 
time, Virginia being a little rested, she gathered from the 
trunk of an old tree, which overhung the bank of the river, 
some long leaves of the plant 'called hart’s tongue, which 
grew near its root. Of these leaves she made a sort of 
buskin, with which she covered her feet, that were bleeding 
from the sharpness of the stony paths ; for in her eager 
desire to do good, she had forgotten to put on her shoes. 
Feeling her feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she 
broke off a branch of bamboo, and continued her walk, lean- 
ing with one hand on the staff, and with the other on Paul. 

They walked on in this manner slowly through the woods ; 
but from the height of the trees, and the thickness of their 
foliage, they soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three 
Breasts, by which they had directed their course, and also of 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


33 


the sun, which was now setting. At length they wandered, 
without perceiving it, from the beaten path in which they had 
hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of trees, 
underwood and rocks, whence there appeared to be no outlet. 
Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and 
forwards, half frantic, in search of a path which might lead 
them out of this thick w'ood ; but he fatigued himself to no 
purpose. He then climbed to the top of a lofty tree, whence 
he hoped at least to perceive the mountain of the Three 
Breasts ; but he could discern nothing around him but the 
tops of trees, some of which were gilded with the last beams 
of the setting sun. Already the shadows of the mountains 
were spreading over the forests in the valleys. The wind 
lulled, as is usually the case at sunset. The most profound 
silence reigned in those awful solitudes, which was only 
interrupted by the cry of the deer, who came to their lairs in 
that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that some hunter 
would hear his voice, called out as loud as he was able, : — 
“ Come, come to the help of Virginia.” But the echoes of 
the forest alone answered his call, and repeated again and 
again, “ Virginia — Virginia.” 

Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with 
fatigue and vexation. He looked around in order to make 
some arrangement for passing the night in that desert; but 
he could find neither fountain, nor palm-tree, nor even a 
branch of dry w r ood fit for kindling a fire. He was then 
impressed by experience, with the sense of his own weakness, 
and began to weep. Virginia said to him, — “ Do not weep, 
my dear brother, or I shall be overwhelmed w'ith grief. I 
am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all that our mothers 
are suffering at this moment. I find we ought to do nothing, 
not even good, without consulting our parents. Oh, I have 
been very imprudent ! and she began to shed tears. 
“ Let us pray to God, my dear brother,” she again said, “ and 
he wall hear us.” They had scarcely finished their prayer, 
when they heard the barking of a dog. “ It must be the dog 
of some hunter,” said Paul, “ who comes here at night to lie in 
wait for the deer.” Soon after, the dog began barking again 
with increased violence. “Surely,” said Virginia, “it is 
Fidele, our own dog; yes, now I know his bark. Are we 
then so near home ? — at the foot of our own mountain ?” A 
moment after Fidele was at their feet, barking, howling, 
moaning, and devouring them with caresses. Before they 
could recover from their surprise, they saw Domingo running 
3 


34 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


towards them. At the sight of the good old negro, who wept 
for joy, they began to weep too, but had not the power to 
utter a syllable. When Domingo had recovered himself a 
little, “ Oh, my dear children,” said he, “ how miserable have 
you made your mothers ! how astonished they were when 
they returned with me from mass, on not finding you at home. 
Mary, who was at work a little distance, could not tell us 
where you were gone. I ran backwards and forwards in the 
plantation, not knowing where to look for you. At last I took 
some of your old clothes, and showing them to Fidele, the 
poor animal, as if he understood me, immediately began to 
scent your path ; and conducted me, wagging his tail all the 
while, to the Black River. I there saw a planter, who told 
me you had brought back a Maroon negro woman, his sl&ve, 
and that he had pardoned her at your request. But what a 
pardon ! he showed her to me with her feet chained to a 
block of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks fastened 
round her neck ! After that, Fidele, still on the scent, led 
me up the steep bank of the Black River, where he again 
stopped, and barked with all his might. This was on the 
brink of a spring, near which was a fallen palm-tree, and a 
fire still smoking. At last he led me to this very spot. We 
are now at the foot of the mountain of the Three Breasts, 
and still four good leagues from home. Come eat, and 
recover your strength.” Domingo then presented them with a 
cake, some fruit, and a large gourd full of beverage composed 
of wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, which their 
mothers had prepared to invigorate and refresh them. 
Virginia sighed at the recollection of the poor slave, and at 
the uneasiness they had given their mothers. She repeated 
several times, “ Oh, how difficult it is to do good ! ” While 
she and Paul were taking refreshment, it being already 
night, Domingo kindled a fire ; and having found among the 
rocks a particular kind of twisted wood, called bois deronde, 
which burns when quite green, and throws out a great blaze, 
he made a torch of it, which he lighted. But when they 
prepared to continue their journey, a new difficulty occurred ; 
Paul and Virginia could no longer walk, their feet being 
violently swollen and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to 
do ; whether to leave them and go in search of help, or remain 
and pass the night with them on that spot. “ There was a 
time,” said he, “ when I could carry you both together in my 
arms ! But now you are grown big, and I am grown old.” 
While he was in this perplexity, a troop of Maroon negroes 


PAUL AND VI PC INI A. 


35 


appeared at a short distance from them. The chief of the 
band, approaching Paul and Virginia, said to them, — “ Good 
little white people, do not be afraid. We saw you pass this 
morning, with a negro woman of the Black River. You 
went to ask pardon for her of her wicked master ; and we, in 
return for this, will carry you home upon our shoulders.” He 
then made a sign, and four of the strongest negroes immedi- 
ately formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees and 
lianas, and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, carried 
them upon their shoulders. Domingo marched in front with 
a lighted torch, and they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of 
the whole troop, who overwhelmed them with their benedic- 
tions. Virginia, affected by this scene, said to Paul, with 
emotion, — “ Oh, my dear brother ! God never leaves a gocd 
action unrewarded.” 

It w r as midnight w^hen they arrived at the foot of their 
mountain, on the ridges of which several fires were lighted. 
As soon as they began to ascend, they heard voices exclaim- 
ing — “ Is it you, my children ? ” They answered immediately, 
and the negroes also, — “ Yes, yes it is.” A moment after 
they could distinguish their mothers and Maiy ccming 
towards them with lighted sticks in their hands. “Unhappy 
children,” cried Madame cle la Tour, “where have you been ? 
What agonies you have made us suffer ! ” — “We have been,” 
said Virginia, “to the Black River, where we went to ask 
pardon for a poor Maroon slave, to vhcm I gave cur break- 
fast this morning, because the seemed dying cf hunger ; and 
these Maroon negroes have brought us heme.” Madame de 
Ja Tour embraced her daughter, without being able to speak ; 
and Virginia, who felt her face wet with her mother’s tears, 
exclaimed, “Now I am repaid for all the hardships I have 
suffered.” Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed Paul 
in her arms, exclaiming, “ And you also, my dear child, you 
have done a good action.” When they u ached the cottages 
with their children, they entertained all the negroes with a 
plentiful repast, after which the latter returned to the weeds, 
praying Heaven to shower down every description of blessing 
on those gooel white people. 

Every day was to these families a day of happiness and 
tranquility. Neither ambition nor envy disturbed their re- 
pose. They did not seek to obtain a useless reputation out of 
doors, which may be procured by artifice and lost by cah mny ; 
but w'ere contented to be the sole witnesses and judges of 
their own actions. In this island, where, as is the case in 


3 ^ 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


most colonies, scandal forms the principal topic of conversa- 
tion, their virtues, and even their names, were unknown. The 
passer-by on the road to the Shaddock Grove, indeed, would 
sometimes ask the inhabitants of the plain, who lived in the 
cottages up there ? and was always told, even by those who 

f did not know them, “ They are good people.” The modest j 
violet thus, concealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen itsJ 
delightful fragrance around. 

Slander, which, under an appearance of justice, naturally 
inclines the heart to falsehood or to hatred, was entirely ban- 
ished from their conversation ; for it is impossible not to hate 
men if we believe them to be wicked, or to live with the 
wicked without concealing their hatred under a false pretense 
of good feeling. Slander thus puts us ill at ease with others 
and with ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, the con- 
duct of individuals was not discussed, but the best manner of 
doing good to all ; and although they had but little in their 
power, their increasing good-will and kindness of heart made 
them constantly ready to do what they could for others. Soli- 
tude, far from having blunted these benevolent feelings, had 
rendered their dispositions even more kindly. Although the 
petty scandals of the day furnished no subject of conversation 
to them, yet the contemplation of nature filled their minds 
with enthusiastic delight. They adored the bounty of that 
Providence, which, by their instrumentality, had spread abun- 
dance and beauty amid these barren rocks, and had enabled 
them to enjoy those pure and simple pleasures, which are 
ever grateful and ever new. 

Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more intelli- 
gent than most European youths are at fifteen ; and the plan 
tations, which Domingo merely cultivated, were embellished 
by him. He would go with the old negro into the neighbor- 
ing woods, where he would root up the young plants of lemon, 
orange, and tarmarind trees, the round heads of which are so 
fresh and green, together with the date-palm trees, which pro- 
duce fruit filled with a sweat cream, possessing the fine per- 
fume of the orange flower. These trees, which had already 
attained to a considerable size, he planted round their little 
enclosure. He had also sown the seed of many trees which 
the second year bear flowers or fruit ; such as the agathis, en- 
circled with long clusters of white flowers which hang from it 
like the crystal pendants -of a chandelier; the Persian lilac, 
which lifts high in air its gray flax-colored branches ; the pap- 
paw tree, the branchless trunk of which forms a column 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


37 


studded with green melons, surmounted by a capital of broad 
leaves similar to those of the fig-tree. 

The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, terminalia, mango, 
alligator pear, the guava, the bread-fruit tree, and the narrow, 
leaved rose-apple, were also planted by him with profusion : 
and the greater number of these trees already afforded their 
young cultivator both shade and fruit. His industrious hands 
diffused the riches of nature over even the most barren parts 
of the plantation. Several species of aloes, the Indian fig, 
adorned with yellow flowers spotted with red, and the thorny 
torch thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and 
seemed to aim at reaching the long lianas, which, laden with 
blue or scarlet flowers, hung scattered over the steepest parts 
of the mountain. 

I love to trace the ingenuity he had exercised in the ar- 
rangement of these trees. He had so disposed them that the 
whole could be seen at a single glance. In the middle of the 
hollow he had planted shrubs of the lowest growth ; behind 
grew the more lofty sorts ; then trees of the ordinary height ; 
and beyond and above all, the venerable and lofty groves 
which border the circumference. Thus this extensive en- 
closure appeared, from its centre, like a verdant amphitheatre 
decorated with fruits and flowers, containing a variety of veg- 
etables, some strips of meadow land, and fields of rice and 
corn. But, in arranging these vegetable productions to his 
own taste, he wandered not too far from the designs of 
Nature. Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown upon the 
elevated spots such seeds as the winds would scatter about, 
and near the borders of the springs those which float upon 
the water. Every plant thus grew in its proper soil, and 
every spot seemed decorated by Nature’s own hand. The 
streams which fell from the summits of the rocks formed in 
some parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in others 
were spread into broad mirrors, in which were reflected, set in 
verdure, the flowering trees, the overhanging rocks, and the 
azure heavens. 

Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the ground, 
these plantations were, for the most part, easy of access.' We 
had, indeed, all given him our advice and assistance, in 
order to accomplish this end. He had conducted one path 
entirely round the valley, and various branches from it led 
from the circumference to the centre. He had drawn some 
advantage from the most rugged spots, and had blended, in 
harmonious union, level walks with the inequalities of the 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


3S 

soil, and trees which grow wild with the cultivated varieties. 
With that immense quantity of large pebbles which now block 
up these paths and which are scattered over most of the 
ground of this island, he formed pyramidal heaps here and 
there, at the base of which he laid mould, and planted rose- 
bushes, and Barbadoes flower-fence, and other shrubs which 
love to climb the rocks. In a short time the dark and shape- 
less heaps of stones he had constructed were covered with 
verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most beautiful 
flowers. Hollow recesses on the borders of the streams 
shaded by the overhanging boughs of aged trees, formed 
rural grottoes, impervious to the rays of the sun, in which you 
might enjoy a refreshing coolness during the mid-day heats. 
One path led to a clump of forest trees, in the centre of which, 
sheltered from the wind, you found a fruit-tree, laden with 
produce. Here was a corn-field ; there, an orchard ; from 
one avenue you had a view of the cottages ; from another, of 
the inaccessible summit of the mountain. Beneath one tufted 
bower of gum-trees, interwoven with lianas, no object what- 
ever could be perceived : while the point of the adjoining 
rock, jutting cut from the mountain, commanded a view of 
the whole enclosure, and of the distant ocean, where, occa- 
sionally, we could discern the distant sail, arriving from 
Europe, or bound thither. On this rock the two families 
frequently met in the evening, and enjoyed in silence 
the freshness of the flowers, the gentle murmurs of the 
fountain, and the last blended harmonies of light and 
shade. 

Nothing could be more charming than the names which 
were bestowed upon some of the delightful retreats of this 
labyrinth. The rock of which I have been speaking, whence 
they could discern my approach at a considerable distance, 
was called the Discovery of Friendship. Paul and Virginia 
had amused themselves by planting a bamboo on that spot ; 
and whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little white 
handkerchief, by way of signal at my approach, as they had 
seen a flag hoisted on the neighboring mountain on the sight 
of a vessel at sea. The idea struck me of engraving an 
inscription on the stalk of this reed ; for I never, in the course 
of my travels, experienced anything like the pleasure in see- 
ing a statue or other monument of ancient art, as in reading a 
well-written inscription. It seems to me as if a human voice 
issued from the stone, and, making itself heard after the 
lapse of ages, addressed man in the midst of a desert, to tell 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


39 


him that he is not alone, and that other men, on that very 
spot, had felt, and thought, and suffered like himself. If the 
inscription belongs to an ancient nation, which no longer exists, 
it leads the soul through infinite space, and strengthens the 
consciousness of its immortality, by demonstrating that a 
thought has survived the ruins of an empire. 

I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul and Virginia’s 
flag, the following lines of Horace : — 

Fratres Helense, lucida sidera, 

Ventorumque regat pater, 

Obstrictis, aliis, praeter Iapiga. 

“ May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and the Father of 
the winds, guide you , and may you feel only the breath of the zephyr.” 

There was a gum-tree, under the shade of which Paul was 
accustomed to sit, to contemplate the sea when agitated by 
storms. On the bark of this tree, I engraved the following 
lilies from Virgil : — 

Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes! 

“ Happy art thou, my son, in knowing all the pastoral divinities.” 

And over the door of Madame de la Tour’s cottage, where 
the families so frequently met, I placed this line : — 

At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 

“ Here dwells a calm conscience, and a life that knows not deceit.” 

But Virginia did not approve of my Latin : she said, that 
what I had placed at the foot of her flag-staff was too long 
and too learned. “ I should have liked better,” added she, “to 
have seen inscribed, ever agitated, yet constant.” — “ Such 
a motto,” I answered, “ would have been still more applicable 
to virtue.” My reflection made her blush. 

The delicacy of sentiment of these happy families was 
manifested in everything around them. They gave the ten- 
derest names to objects in appearance the most indifferent. A 
border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple trees, planted round 
a green sward where Virginia and Paul sometimes danced, 
received the name of Concord. An old tree, beneath the 
shade of which Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to 
recount their misfortunes, was called the Burial-place of Tears. 
They bestowed the names cf Brittany and Normandy on two 


40 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


little plots of ground, where they had sown corn, strawberries, 
and peas. Domingo and Mary, wishing, in imitation of their 
mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foullepointe, the 
places of their birth in Africa, gave those names to the little 
fields where the grass was sown with which they wove their 
baskets, and where they had planted a calabash-tree. Thus 
by cultivating the productions of their respective climates, 
these exiled families cherished the dear illusions which bind 
us to our native country, and softened their regrets in a for- 
eign land. Alas ! I have seen these trees, these fountains, 
these heaps of stones, which are now so completely over- 
thrown — which now, like the desolated plains of Greece, pre- 
sent nothing but masses of ruin and affecting remembrances, 
all but called into life by the many charming appellations thus 
bestowed upon them ! 

But perhaps the most delightful spot of this enclosure was 
that called Virginia’s resting-place. At the foot of the rock 
which bore the name of the Discovery of Friendship, is a small 
crevice, whence issues a fountain forming, near its source a 
little spot of marshy soil in the middle of a field of rich grass. 
At the time of Paul’s birth I had made Margaret a present of 
an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and which she 
planted on the border of this fenny ground, in order that the 
tree might one day serve to mark the epoch of her son’s birth. 
Madame de la Tour planted another cocoa with the same view, 
at the birth of Virginia. These nuts produced two cocoa- 
trees, which formed the only record of the two families ; one 
was called Paul’s tree, the other, Virginia’s. Their growth 
was in the same proportion as that of the two young persons, 
not exactly equal ; but they rose, at the end of twelve years, 
above the roofs of the cottages. Already their tender stalks 
were interwoven, and clusters of young cocoas hung from them 
over the basin of the fountain. With the exception of these 
two trees, this nook of the rock was left as it had been deco- 
rated by nature. On its embrowned and moist sides broad 
plants of maiden-hair glistened with their green and dark 
stars ; and tufts of wave-leaved hart’s tongue suspended like 
long ribbons of purple green, floated on the wind. Near this 
grew a chain of the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of 
which resemble the red gilliflower ; and the long-podded cap- 
sicum, the seed-vessels of which are of the color of blood, and 
more resplendent than coral. Near them, the herb balm, 
with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, which has 
the odor of the clove, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


4i 


From the precipitous side of the mountain hung the graceful 
lianas, like floating draperies, forming magnificent canopies 
of verdure on the face of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured 
by the stillness of these retreats, resorted here to pass the 
night. At the hour of sunset we could perceive the curlew 
and the stint skimming along the sea-shore ; the frigate bird 
poised high in air ; and the white bird of the tropic, which 
abandons, with the star of the day, the solitudes of the 
Indian ocean. Virginia took pleasure in resting herself upon 
the border of this fountain, decorated with wild and sublime 
magnificence. She often went thither to wash the linen of 
the family beneath the shade of the two cocoa-trees, and 
thither she sometimes led her goats to graze. While she was 
making cheeses of their milk, she loved to see them browse 
on the maiclen-hair fern which clothed the steep sides of the 
rock, and hung suspended by one of its cornices, as on a 
pedestal. Paul, observing that Virginia was fond of this 
spot, brought thither, from the neighboring forest, a great 
variety of bird’s nest. The old birds following their young, 
soon established themselves in this new colony. Virginia, at 
stated times, distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet, 
and maize. As soon as she appeared, the whistling blackbird, 
the amadavid bird, whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with 
its flame-colored plumage, forsook their bushes ; the paroquet, 
green as an emerald, descended frcm the neighboring fan- 
palms, the partridge ran along the grass ; all advanced pro- 
miscuously toward her, like a brood of chickens : and she and 
Paul found an exhaustless source of amusement in observing 
their sports, their repasts, and their loves. 

Amiable children ! thus passed your earlier days in inno- 
cence, and in obeying the impulses of kindness. How many 
times, on this very spot, have your mothers, pressing you in 
their arms, blessed Heaven for the consolation your unfolding 
virtues prepared for their declining years, while they at the same 
time enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing you begin life under 
the happiest auspices ! How many times, beneath the shade 
of those rocks, have I partaken with them of your rural 
repasts, which never cost any animal its life ! Gourds full of 
milk, fresh eggs, cakes of rice served up on plantain leaves, 
with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine- 
apples, furnished a wholesome repast, the most agreeable to 
the eye, as well as delicious to the taste, that can possibly 
.be imagined. 

Like the repast, the conversation was mild, and free from 


4 2 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


everything having a tendency to do harm. Paul often talked 
of the labors of the day and of the morrow. He was continu- 
ally planning something for the accommodation of their little 
society. Here he discovered that the paths were rugged ; 
there, that the seats were uncomfortable : sometimes the young 
arbors did not afford sufficient shade, and Virginia might be 
better pleased elsewhere. 

During the rainy season the two families met together in 
the cottage, and employed themselves in weaving mats of grass, 
and baskets of bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets, were 
ranged along the walls in the most perfect order ; and near 
these instruments of agriculture were heaped its products, — 
bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plantain. Some 
degree of luxury usually accompanies abundance ; and Vir- 
ginia was taught by her mother and Margaret to prepare sher- 
bert and cordials from the juice of. the sugar-cane, the lemon 
and the citron. 

When night came, they all supped together by the light of 
a lamp; after which Madame de la Tour or Margaret related 
some story of travellers benighted in those woods of Europe 
that are still infested by banditti ; or told a dismal tale of 
some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest upon the 
rocks of a desert island. To these recitals the children lis- 
tened with eager attention, and earnestly hoped that Heaven 
would one day grant them the joy of performing tbe rites of 
hospitality toward such unfortunate persons. When the time 
for repose arrived, the two families separated and retired for 
the night, eager to meet again the following morning. Some- 
times they were lulled to repose by the beating of the rains, 
which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their cottages, and 
sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to their ear the 
distant roar of the waves breaking upon the shore. They 
blessed God for their own safety, the feeling of which was 
brought home more forcibly to their minds by the sounds of 
remote danger. 

Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some affecting 
history of the Old or New Testament. Her auditors reasoned 
but little upon these sacred volumes, for their theology cen- 
tered in a feeling of devotion towards the Supreme Being, like 
that of nature ; and their morality was an active principle, 
like that of the Gospel. These families had no particular 
days devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. Every day 
was to them a holiday, and all that surrounded them one holy 
temple, in which they ever adored the Infinite Intelligence, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


43 


the Almighty God, the Friend of human kind. A feeling of 
confidence in his supreme power filled their minds with conso- 
lation for the past, with fortitude under present trials, and 
with hope in the future, Compelled by misfortune to return 
almost to a state of nature, these excellent women had thus 
developed in their own and their children’s bosoms the feel- 
ings most natural to the human mind, and its best support 
under affliction. 

But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast a gloom over the 
best regulated tempers, so whenever any member of this little 
society appeared to be laboring under dejection, the rest 
assembled around, and endeavored to banish her painful 
thoughts by amusing the mind rather than by grave arguments 
against them. Each performed this kind office in their own 
appropriate manner: Margaret, by her gayety ; Madame de la 
Tour, by the gentle consolation of her religion ; Virginia, by 
her tender caresses ; Paul, by his frank and engaging cordial- 
ity. Even Mary and Domingo hastened to offer their succor, 
and to weep with those that wept. Thus do weak plants in- 
terweave themselves with each other, in order to withstand the 
fury of the tempest. 

During the fine season, they went every Sunday to the 
church of the Shaddock Grove, the steeple of which you see 
yonder upon the plain. Many wealthy members of the con- 
gregation, who came to church in palanquins, sought the 
acquaintance of these united families, and invited them to 
parties of pleasure. But they always repelled these over- 
tures with respectful politeness, as they were persuaded that 
the rich and powerful seek the society of persons in an infer- 
ior station only for the sake of surrounding themselves with 
flatterers, and that every flatterer must applaud alike all the 
actions of his patron, whether good or bad. On the other 
hand, they avoided, with equal care, too intimate an acquaint- 
ance with the lower class, who are ordinarily jealous, culmi- 
nating, and gross. They thus acquired, with some, the 
character of being timid, and with others, of pride : but their 
reserve was accompanied with so much obliging politeness, 
above all towards the unfortunate and the unhappy, that they 
insensibly acquired the respect of the rich and the confidence 
of the poor. 

After service, some kind office was often required at 
their hands by their poor neighbors. Sometimes a person 
troubled in mind sought their advice ; sometimes a child 
begged them to visit its sick mother, in one of the adjoining 


44 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


hamlets. They always took with them a few remedies for 
the ordinary diseases of the country, which they administered 
in that soothing manner which stamps a value upon the 
smallest favors. Above all, they met with singular success in 
administering to the disorders of the mind, so intolerable in 
solitude, and under the infirmities of a weakened frame. 
Madame de la Tour spoke with such sublime confidence of 
the Divinity, that the sick, while listening to her, almost be- 
lieved him present. Virginia often returned home with her 
eyes full of tears, and her heart overflowing with delight, at 
having had an opportunity of doing good ; for to her gener- 
ally was confided the task of preparing and administering the 
medicines, — a task which she fulfilled with angelic sweetness. 
After these visits of charity, they sometimes extended their 
walk by the Sloping Mountain, till they reached my dwelling, 
where I used to prepare dinner for them on the banks of the 
little rivulet which glides near my cottage. I procured for 
these occasions a few bottles of old wine, in order to heighten 
the relish of our Oriental repast by the more genial produc- 
tions of Europe. At other times we met on the sea-shore 
at the mouth of some little river, or rather mere brook. We 
brought from home the provisions furnished us by our gar- 
dens, to which we added those supplied us by the sea in 
abundant variety. We caught on these shores the mullet, the 
roach, and the sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, and 
all other kinds of shell-fish. In this way, we often enjoyed the 
most tranquil pleasures in situations the most terrific. Some- 
times, seated upon a rock, under the shade of the velvet sun- 
flower-tree, we saw the enormous waves of the Indian Ocean 
break beneath our feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who 
could swim like a fish, would advance on the reefs to meet the 
coming billows ; then, at their near approach, would run back 
to the beach, closely pursued by the foaming breakers, which 
threw themselves, with a roaring noise, far on the sands. But 
Virginia, at this sight, uttered piercing cries, and said that 
such sports frightened her too much. 

Other amusements were not wanting on these festive occa- 
sions. Our repasts were generally followed by the songs and 
dances of the two young people. Virginia sang the happiness 
of pastoral life, and the misery of those who were impelled by 
avarice to cross the raging ocean, rather than cultivate the 
earth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. Sometimes she 
performed a pantomime with Paul, after the manner of the 
negroes. The first language of man is pantomime: it is 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


45 


known to all nations, and is so natural and expressive, that 
the children of the European inhabitants catch it with facility 
from the negroes. Virginia, recalling, from among the histories 
which her mother had read to her, those which had affected her 
most, represented the principal events in them with beautiful 
simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo’s tantam she 
appeared upon the green sward, bearing a pitcher upon her 
head, and advanced with a timid step towards the source of a 
neighboring fountain to draw water. Domingo and Mary, 
personating the shepherds of Midian, forbade her to approach, 
and repulsed her sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her succor, 
beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia’s pitcher, and placing 
it upon her head,- bound her brows at the same time with a 
wreath of the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
which served to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. 
Then joining in their sports, I took upon myself the part of 
Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul, my daughter Zephora in 
marriage. 

Another time Virginia would represent the unhappy Ruth, 
returning poor and widowed with her mother-in-law, who, after 
so prolonged an absence, found herself as unknown as in a 
foreign land. Domingo and Mary personated the reapers. 
The supposed daughter of Naomi followed their steps, glean- 
ing here and there a few ears of corn. When interrogated by 
Paul, — a part which he performed with the gravity of a patri- 
arch, — she answered his questions with a faltering voice. He 
then, touched with compassion, granted an asylum to inno- 
cence, and hospitality to misfortune. He filled her lap with 
plenty ; and, leading her towards us as before the elders of 
the city, declared his purpose to take her in marriage. At this 
scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the desolate situation in 
which she had been left by her relations, her widowhood, and 
the kind reception she had met with from Margaret, suc- 
ceeded now by the soothing hope of a happy union between 
their children, could not forbear weeping ; and these mixed 
recollections of good and evil caused us all to unite with her 
in shedding tears of sorrow and of joy. 

These dramas were performed with such an air of reality 
that you might have fancied yourself transported to the 
plains of Syria or of Palestine. We were not unfurnished 
with decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suitable to the rep- 
resentation. The scene was generally placed in an open 
space in the forest, the diverging paths from which formed 
around us numerous arcades of foligge, under which we were 


46 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


sheltered from the heat all the middle of the day ; but when 
the sun descended towards the horizon, its rays, broken by 
the trunks of the trees, darted amongst the shadows of the 
forest in long lines of light, producing the most magnificent 
effect. Sometimes its broad disk appeared at the end of an 
avenue, lighting it up with insufferable brightness. The 
foliage of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron 
beams, glowed with the lustre of the topaz and the emerald. 
Their brown and mossy trunks appeared transformed into 
columns of antique bronze ; and the birds, which had retired 
in silence to their leafy shades to pass the night, surprised to 
see the radiance of the second morning, hailed the star of 
day all together with innumerable carols. 

Night often overtook us during these rural entertainments ; 
but the purity of the air and the warmth of the climate, ad- 
mitted of our sleeping in the woods, without incurring any 
danger by exposure to the weather, and no less secure from 
the molestation of robbers. On our return the following day 
to our respective habitations, we found them in exactly the 
same state in which they had been left. In this island, then 
unsophisticated by the pursuits of commerce, such were the 
honesty and primitive manners of the population, that the 
doors of many houses were without a key, and even a lock 
itself was an object of curiosity to not a few or the native in- 
habitants. 

There were, however, some days in the years celebrated by 
Paul and Virginia in a more peculiar manner ; these were the 
birth-days of their mothers. Virginia never failed the day be- 
fore to prepare some wheaten cakes, which she distributed 
among a few poor white families, born in the island, who had 
never eaten European bread. These unfortunate people, un- 
cared for by the blacks, were reduced to live on tapioca in the 
w r oods; and as they had neither the insensibility which is the 
result of slavery, nor the fortitude which springs from a liberal 
education, to enable them to support their poverty, their situ- 
ation was deplorable. These cakes were all that Virginia had 
it in her power to give away, but she conferred the gift in so 
dglicate a manner as to add tenfold to its value. In the first 
place, Paul was commissioned to take the cakes himself to 
these families, and get their promise to come and spend the 
next day at Madame de la Tours. Accordingly, mothers of 
families, with two or three thin, yellow, miserable looking 
daughters, so timid that they dared not look up, made their 
appearance. Virginia soon put them at their ease ; she waited 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


47 


upon them with refreshments, the excellence of which she en- 
deavored to heighten by relating some particular circumstance 
which in her own estimation, vastly improved them. One 
beverage had been prepared by Margaret ; another, by her 
mother : her brother himself had climbed some lofty tree for 
the very fruit she was presenting. She would then get Paul 
to dance with them, nor would shejeave them till she saw 
that they were happy. She wished them to partake of the joy 
of her own family. “ It is only,” she said, “ by promoting 
the happiness of others, that we can secure our own.” When 
they left, she generally presented them with some little article 
they seemed to fancy, enforcing their acceptance of it by some 
delicate pretext, that she might not appear to know they were 
in want. If she remarked that their clothes were much tat- 
tered, she obtained her mother’s permission to give them 
some of her own, and then sent Paul to leave them secretly 
at their cottage doors. She thus followed the divine precept, 
— concealing the benefactor, and revealing only the benefit. 

Your Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy 
with prejudices at variance with happiness, cannot imagine all 
the instruction and pleasure to be derived from nature. Your 
souls, confined to a small sphere of intelligence, soon reach 
the limit of its artificial enjoyments : but nature and the heart 
are inexhaustible. Paul and Virginia had neither clock, nor 
almanac, nor books of chronology, history or philosophy. The 
periods of their lives were regulated by those of the operations 
of nature, and their familiar conversation had a reference to 
the changes of the seasons. They knew the time of day by the 
shadows of the trees ; the seasons, by the times when these 
trees'bore flowers or fruit ; and the years, by the number of 
their harvests. These soothing images diffused an inexpres- 
sible charm over their conversation. “ It is time to dine,” 
said Virginia, “ the shadows of the plantain-trees are at their 
roots : ” or, “ Night approaches, the tamarinds are closing 
their leaves.” “ When will you come and see us ? ” inquired 
some of her companions in the neighborhood. “ At the time 
of the sugar-canes,” answered Virginia. “ Your visit will be 
then still more delightful,” resumed her young acquaintances. 
When she was asked what was her own age and that of Paul, 
— “My brother,” said she, “is as old as the great cocoa-tree 
of the fountain ; and I am as old as the little one : the man- 
goes have bore fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees have 
flowered four-and-twenty times, since I came into the woild.” 
The' ' lives seemed linked to that of the trees, like those of 


48 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


Fauns or Dryads. They knew no other historical epochs 
than those of the lives of their mothers, no other chronology 
than that of their orchards, and no other philosophy than that 
of doing good, and resigning themselves to the will of 
Heaven. 

What need, indeed, had these young people of riches or 
learning such as ours ? Even their necessities and their 
ignorance increased their happiness. No day passed in 
which they were not of some service to one another, or in 
which they did not mutually impart some instruction. Yes, 
instruction ; for if errors mingled with it, they were, at least, 
not of a dangerous character. A pure-minded being has 
none of that description to fear. Thus grew these children of 
nature. No care had troubled their peace, no intemperance 
had corrupted their blood, no misplaced passion had depraved 
their hearts. Love, innocence and piety, possessed their 
souls ; and those intellectual graces were unfolding daily in 
their features, their attitudes, and their movements. Still in 
the morning of life, they had all its blooming freshness ; and 
surely such in the garden of Eden appeared our first parents, 
when coming from the hands of God, they first saw, and 
approached each other, and conversed together, like brother 
and sister. Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as 
Eve ; and Paul, like Adam, united the stature of manhood 
with the simplicity of a child. 

Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a thousand times 
told me, he used to say to her, on his return from labor, — 
“ When I am wearied, the sight of you refreshes me. If 
from the summit of the mountain I perceive you below in the 
valley, you appear to me in the midst of our orchard like a 
blooming rose-bud. If you go towards our mother’s house, 
the partridge, when it runs to meet its young, has a shape 
less beautiful, and a step less light. When I lose sight of 
you through the trees, I have no need to see you in order to 
find you again. Something of you, I know not how, remains 
' for me in the air through which you have passed, on the 
; grass whereon you have been seated. When I come near 
j you, you delight all my senses. The azure of the sky is less 
charming than the blue of your eyes, and the song of 
the amadavid bird less soft than the sound of your voice. If 
I only touch you with the tip of my finger, my whole frame 
trembles with pleasure. Do you remember the day when we 
crossed over the great stones of the river of the Three 
Breasts ? I was very tired before we reached the bar> ; but 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


49 


as soon as I had taken you in my arms, I seemed to have 
wings like a bird. Tell me by what charm you have thus 
enchanted me ? Is it by your wisdom ? — Our mothers have 
more than either of us ? Is it by your caresses — They embrace 
me much oftener than you. I think it must be by your good- 
ness. I shall never forget how you walked bare-footed to the 
Black River, to ask pardon for the poor runaway slave. 
Here, my beloved, take this flowering branch of a lemon-tree, 
which I have gathered in the forest ; you will let it remain at 
night near your bed. Eat this honey-comb, too, which I 
have taken for you from the top of a rock. But first lean on 
my bosom, and I shall be refreshed.” 

Virginia would answer him, “Oh, my dear brother, the 
rays of the sun in the morning on the tops of the rocks give 
me less joy than the sight of you. 1 love my mother, — I love 
yours ; but when they call you their son, I love them a thou- 
sand times more. When they caress you, I feel it more 
sensibly than when I am caressed myself. You ask me what 
makes you love me. Why, all creatures that are brought up 
together love one another. Look at our birds ; reared up in 
the same nests, they love each other as we do ; they are 
always together like us. Hark ! how they call and answer 
from one tree to another. So when the echoes bring to my 
ears the air which you play on your flute on the top of the 
mountain, I repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. 
You are dear to me more especially since the day when you 
wanted to fight the master of the slave for me. Since that 
time how often have I said to myself, ‘ Ah, my brother has a 
good heart ; but for him, I should have died of terror.’ I 
pray to God every day for my mother and for yours, and for 
our poor servants ; but when I pronounce your name, my 
devotion seems to increase ; I ask so earnestly of God that 
no harm may befall you ! Why do you go so far, and climb 
so high, to seek fruits and flowers for me? Have we not 
enough in our garden already ? How much you are fatigued, 
— you look so warm ! ” — and with her little white handker- 
chief she would wipe the damps from his face, and then 
imprint a tender kiss on his forehead. 

For some time past, however, Virginia had felt her heart 
agitated by new sensations. Her beautiful blue eyes lost 
their lustre, her cheek its freshness, and her frame was 
overpowered with a universal languor. Serenity no longer 
sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her lips She 
would become all at once gay without cause for joy, and 
4 


5 ° 


fAUL 


AXD yu:ciNiA. 

melancholy without any subject for grief. She fled her 
innocent amusements, her gentle toils, and even the society of 
j her beloved family ; wandering about th.e most unfrequented 
\ parts of the plantations, and seeking everywhere the rest 
which she could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the sight of 
Paul, she advanced sportively to meet him ; but, when about 
to accost him, was overcome by a sudden confusion ; her 
| pale cheeks were covered with blushes, and her eyes no 
longer dared to meet those of her brother. Paul said to her, 

■ — The rocks are covered with verdure, our birds begin to 
sing when you approach, everything around you is gay, and 
| you only are unhappy.” Pie then endeavored to soothe her 
; by his embraces, but she turned away her head, and fled, 

; trembling towards her mother. The caresses of her brother 
\ excited too much emotion in her agitated heart, and she 
( sought, in the arms of her mother, refuge from herself. 
Paul, unused to the secret windings of the female heart, vexed 
himself in vain in endeavoring to comprehend the meaning of 
these new and strange caprices. Misfortunes seldom come 
alone, and a serious calamity now impended over these 
families. 

One of those summers, which sometimes desolate the coun- 
tries situated between the tropics, now began to spread its 
ravages over this island. It was near the end of December, 
when the sun, in Capricorn, darts over the Mauritius, during 
the space of three weeks, its vertical fires. The south-east 
wind, which prevails throughout almost the whole year, no 
longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from the highways, 
and hung suspended in the air; the ground was everywhere 
broken into clefts; the grass was burnt up; hot exhalations 
issued from the sides of the mountains, and their rivulets, for 
the most part, became dry. No refreshing cloud ever arose 
from the sea : fiery vapors, only, during the day, ascended 
from the plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the reflection of 
a vast conflagration. Night brought no coolness to the 
heated atmosphere ; and the red' moon rising in the misty 
horizon, appeared of supernatural magnitude. The droop- 
ing cattle, on the sides of the hills, stretching out their necks 
towards heaven, and panting for breath, made the valleys re- 
echo with their melancholy lowings : even the Caffre by whom 
they were led threw himself upon the earth, in search of some 
cooling moisture : but his hopes were vain ; the scorching 
sun had penetrated the whole soil, and the stifling atmos- 
phere everywhere resounded with the buzzing noise of insects, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


5 1 


seeking to allay their thirst with the blood of men and of 
animals. 

During this sultry season, Virginia’s restlessness and dis- 
quietude were much increased. One night, in particular, be- 
ing unable to sleep, she arose from her bed, sat down, and 
returned to rest again ; but could find in no attitude either 
slumber or repose. At length she bent her way, by the light 
of the moon towards her fountain, and gazed at its spring, 
which, notwithstanding the drouth, still trickled, in silver 
threads down the brown sides of the rock. She flung herself 
into the basin : its coolness reanimated her spirits, and a 
thousand soothing remembrances came to her mind. She 
recollected that in her infancy her mother and Margaret had 
amused themselves by bathing her with Paul in this very 
spot ; that he afterwards, reserving this bath for her sole use, 
had hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom with sand, and 
sown aromatic herbs around its borders. She saw in the 
water, upon her naked arms and bosom, the reflection of the 
two cocoa trees which were planted at her own and her 
brother’s birth, and which interwove above her head their 
green branches and young fruit. She thought of Paul’s / 
friendship, sweeter than the odor of the blossoms, purer than | 
the waters of the fountain, stronger than the intertwining \ 
palm-tree, and she sighed. Reflecting on the hour of the 1 
night, and the profound solitude, her imagination became dis- | 
turbed. Suddenly she flew, affrighted, from those dangerous 
shades, and those waters which seemed to her hotter than the 
tropical sunbeam, and ran to her mother for refuge. More 
than once, wishing to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her 
mother’s hand within her own ; more than once she was ready 
to pronounce the name of Paul : but her oppressed heart 
left her lips no power of utterance, and leaning her head on 
her mother’s bosom, she bathed it with her tears. 

Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the source 
of her daughter’s uneasiness, did not think proper to speak to 
her on the subject. “ My dear child,” said she, “ offer up 
your supplications to God, who disposes at his will of health 
and of life. He subjects you to trial now, in order to recom- 
pense you hereafter. Remember that we are only placed upon 
earth for the exercise of virtue.” 

The excessive heat in the meantime raised vast masses of 
vapor from the ocean, which hung over the island like an im- 
mense parasol, and gathered round the summits of the moun- 
tains. Long flakes of fire issued from time to time from these 


5 2 


PAUL AN/) VIRGINIA. 


mist-embosomed peaks. The most awful thunder soon after 
re-echoed through the woods, the plains and the valleys ; the 
rains fell from the skies in cataracts : foaming torrents rushed 
down the sides of this mountain ; the bottom of the valley 
became a sea, and the elevated platform on which the cot- 
tages were built, a little island. The accumulated waters, 
having no other outlet, rushed with violence through the nar- 
row gorge which leads into the valley, tossing and roaring, 
and bearing along with them a mingled wreck of soil, trees, 
tand rocks. 

~ The trembling families meantime addressed their prayers 
to God all together in the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the 
roof of which cracked fearfully from the force of the winds. 
So incessant and vivid were the lightnings, that although the 
doors and window-shutters were securely fastened, every object 
without could be distinctly seen through the joints in the 
wood-work ! Paul, followed by Domingo, went with intrepid- 
ity from one cottage to another, notwithstanding the fury of 
the tempest ; here supporting a partition with a buttress, 
there driving in a stake ; and only returning to the family to 
calm their fears, by the expression of a hope that the storm 
was passing away. Accordingly, in the evening the rains 
ceased, the trade-winds of the south-east pursued their 
ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds were driven away to 
the northward, and the setting sun appeared in the horizon. 

Virginia’s first wish was to visit the spot called her Resting- 
place. Paul approached her with a timid air, and offered her 
the assistance of his arm ; she accepted it with a smile, and 
they left the cottage together. The air was clear and fresh ; 
white vapors arose from the ridges of the mountain, which was 
furrowed here and there by the courses of torrents, marked in 
foam, and now beginning to dry up on all sides. As for the 
garden, it was completely torn to pieces by deep water-courses, 
the roots of most of the fruit trees were laid bare, and vast 
heaps of sand covered the borders of the meadows, and had 
choked up Virginia’s bath. The two cocoa trees, however, 
were still erect, and still retained their freshness ; but they 
were no longer surrounded by turf, or arbors, or birds, except 
a few amadavid birds, which, upon the points of the neighbor- 
ing rocks, were lamenting, in plaintive notes, the loss of their 
young. 

At the sight of this general desolation, Virginia exclaimed 
to Paul, — “ You brought birds hither; and the hurricane has 
killed them. You planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


53 


Everything then upon earth perishes, and it is only Heaven 
that is not subject to change.” — “ Why,” answered Paul, “ can- 
not I give you something that belongs to Heaven ? but I have 
nothing of my own even upon the earth.” Virginia with a 
blush replied, “ You have the picture of St. Paul.” As soon 
as she had uttered the words, he flew in quest of it to his 
mother’s cottage. This picture was a miniature of Paul the 
Hermit, which Margaret, who viewed it with feelings of great 
devotion, had worn at her neck while a girl, and which, after 
she became a mother, she had placed round her child’s. It 
had even happened, that being, while pregnant, abandoned by 
all the world, and constantly occupied in contemplating the 
image of this benevolent .recluse, her offspring had contracted 
some resemblance to this revered object. She therefore 
bestowed upon him the name of Paul, giving him for his 
patron a saint who had passed his life far from mankind by 
whom he had been first deceived and then forsaken. Virginia, 
on receiving this little present from the hands of Paul, said to 
him, with emotion, “ My dear brother, I will never part with 
this while I live ; nor will I ever forget that you have given 
me the only thing you have in this world.” At this tone of 
friendship, — this unhoped for return of familiarity and tender- 
ness, Paul attempted to embrace her ; but light as a bird, she 
escaped him, and fled away, leaving him astonished, and 
unable to account for conduct so extraordinary. 

Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, “ Why 
do we not unite our children by marriage ? They have a 
strong attachment for each other, and though my son hardly 
understands the real nature of his feelings, yet great care and 
watchfulness will be necessary. Under such circumstances, 
it will be as well not to leave them too much together.” 
Madame de la Tour replied, “ They are too young, and too 
poor. What grief would it occasion us to see Virginia bring 
into the world unfortunate children, whom she would not per- 
haps have sufficient strength to rear ! Your negro, Domingo, 
is almost too old to labor ; Mary is infirm, As for myself, 
my dear friend, at the end of fifteen years, I find my strength 
greatly decreased ; the feebleness of age advances rapidly in 
hot climates, and, above all, under the pressure of misfortune. 
Paul is our only hope : let us wait till he comes to maturity, 
and his increased strength enables him to support us by his 
labor ; at present you well know that we have only sufficient 
to supply the wants of the day : but were we to send Paul for 
a short time to the Indies, he might acqmr^bv commerce, the 


54 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


means of purchasing some slaves ? and at his return we could 
unite him to Virginia ; for I am persuaded no one on earth 
would render her so happy as your son. We will consult our 
neighbor on this subject. 

They accordingly asked my advice, which was in accordance 
with Madame de la Tour’s opinion. “ The Indian seas,” I 
observed to them, “ are calm, and, in choosing a favorable 
time of the year, the voyage out is seldom longer than six 
weeks ; and the same time may be allowed for the return 
home. We will furnish Paul with a little venture from my 
neighborhood, where he is much beloved. If we were only to 
supply him with some raw cotton, of which we make no use 
for want of mills to work it, some ebony, which is here so 
common that it serves us for firing, and some rosin, which is 
found in our woods, he would be able to sell those articles, 
though useless here, to good advantage in the Indies.” 

I took upon myself to obtain permission from Monsieur de 
la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage ; and I determined 
previously to mention the affair to Paul. But what was my 
surprise, when this young man said to me, with a degree of 
good sense above his age, “ And why do you wish me to 
leave my family for this precarious pursuit of fortune ? Is 
there any commerce in the world more advantageous than the 
culture of the ground, which yields sometimes fifty or a 
hundred-fold ? If we wish to engage in commerce, can we not 
do so by carrying our superfluities to the town without my 
wandering to the Indies? Our mothers tell me, that Domingo 
is old and feeble ; but I am young, and gather strength every 
day. If any accident should happen during my absence, 
above all to Virginia, who already suffers — Oh, no, no ! — I 
cannot resolve to leave them.” 

So decided an answer threw me into great perplexity, for 
Madame de la Tour had not concealed from me the cause of 
Virginia’s illness and want of spirits, and her desire of sepa- 
rating these young people till they were a few years older. I 
took care, however, not to drop anything which could lead 
Paul to suspect the existence of these motives. 

About this period a ship from France brought Madame de 
la Tour a letter from her aunt. The fear of death, without 
which hearts as insensible as hers would never feel, had 
alarmed her into compassion. When she wrote she was 
recovering from a dangerous illness, which had, however, left 
her incurably languid and weak. She desired her niece to 
re. urn to France : or, if her health forbade her to undertake 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


55 


so long a voyage, she begged her to send Virginia, on whom 
she promised to bestow a good education, to procure for 
her a splendid marriage and to leave her heiress of her 
whole fortune. She concluded by enjoining strict obedi- 
ence to her will, in gratitude, she said, for her great 
kindness. 

At the perusal of this letter general consternation spread 
itself through the- whole assembled party, Domingo and Mary 
began to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, appeared 
almost ready to burst with indignation ; while Virginia, fixing 
her eyes anxiously upon her mother, had not power to utter a 
single word. “ And can you now r leave us ? ” cried Margaret 
to Madame de la Tour. “ No, my dear friend, no, my beloved 
children,” replied Madame de la Tour ; “ I will never leave 
you. I have lived with you, and with you I will die. I have 
known no happiness but your affection. If my health be 
deranged my past misfortunes are the cause. My heart has 
been deeply wounded by the cruelty of my relations, and by 
the loss of my beloved husband. But I have since found more 
consolation and more real happiness with you in these humble 
huts, than all the wealth of my family could now lead me to 
expect in my own country.” 

At this soothing language every eye overflowed with tears 
of delight. Paul, pressing Madame de la Tour in his arms, 
exclaimed, — “ Neither will I leave you ! I will not go to the 
Indies. We will all labor for you, dear mamma ; and you 
shall never feel any want with us.” But of the whole society, 
the person who displayed the least transport, and who probably 
felt the most, was Virginia : and during the remainder of the 
day, the gentle gayetv which flowed from her heart, and 
proved that her peace of mind was restored, completed the 
general satisfaction. 

At sunrise the next day, just as they had concluded offering 
up, as usual, their morning prayer before breakfast, Domingo 
came to inform them that a gentleman on horseback, followed 
by two slaves, was coming towards the plantation. It was 
Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. Pie entered the cottage, where 
he found the family at breakfast. Virginia had prepared, 
according to the custom of the country, coffee, and rice boiled 
in water. To these she had added hot yams, and fresh plan- 
tains. The leaves of the plantain-tree supplied the want of 
table-linen ; and calabash shells, split in two, served for cups. 
The governor exhibited, at first, some astonishment at the 
homeliness of the dwelling ; then, addressing himself to Ma- 


56 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


dame de la Tour, he observed, that although public affairs 
drew his attention too much from the concerns of individuals, 
she had many claims on his good offices. “ You have an 
aunt at Paris, madame,” he added, “ a woman of quality, and 
immensely rich, who expects that you will hasten to see her, 
and who means to bestow upon you her whole fortune.” 
Madame de la Tour replied, that the state of her health would 
not permit her to undertake so long a voyage. “ At least,” 
resumed Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, “ you cannot without 
injustice, deprive this amiable young lady, your daughter, of 
so noble an inheritance. I will not conceal from you, that 
your aunt has made use of her influence to secure your 
daughter being sent to her ; and that I have received official 
letters, in which I am ordered to exert my authority, if 
necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish to employ my 
power for the purpose of rendering the inhabitants of this 
country happy, I expect from your good sense the voluntary 
sacrifice of a few years, upon which your daughter’s establish- 
ment in the world, and the welfare of your whole life depends. 
Wherefore do we come to these islands ? Is it not to acquire 
a fortune ? And will it not be more agreeable to return and 
find it in your own country ? ” 

He then took a large bag of piastres from one of his slaves, 
and placed it upon the table. “ This sum,” he continued, “ is 
allotted by your aunt to defray the outlay necessary for the 
equipment of the young lady for her voyage.” Gently re- 
proaching Madame de la Tour for not having had recourse to 
him in her difficulties, he extolled at the same time her noble 
fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the governor, — “ My mother 
did apply to you, sir, and you received her ill.” — “ Have you 
another child, madame ? ” said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
to Madame de la Tour. “ No, sir,” she replied ; •“ this is 
the son of my friend ; but he and Virginia are equally dear 
to us, and we mutually consider them both as our own chil- 
dren.” “ Young man,” said the governor to Paul, “ when 
you have acquired a little more experience of the world, you 
will know that it is the misfortune of people in place to be 
deceived, and bestow, in consequence, upon intriguing vice, 
that which they would wish to give to modest merit.” 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request of Madame de 
la Tour, placed himself next to her at table, and breakfasted 
after the manner of the Creoles,, upon coffee, mixed with rice 
boiled in water. He was delighted with the order and clean- 
liness which prevailed in the little cottage, the harmony of 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


57 


the two interesting families, and the zeal of their old servants. 
“ Here,” he exclaimed, “ I discern only wooden furniture : 
but I find serene countenances and hearts of gold.” Paul, 
enchanted with the affability of the governor, said to him, — 
“ I wish to be your friend : for you are a good man.” Mon- 
sieur de la Bourdonnais received with pleasure this insular 
compliment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured him he 
might rely upon his friendship. 

After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour aside and 
informed her that an opportunity would soon offer itself of 
sending her daughter to France, in a ship which was going to 
sail in a short time ; that he would put her under the charge 
of a lady, one of the passengers, who was a relation of his 
own ; and that she must not think of renouncing an immense 
fortune, on account of the pain of being separated from her 
daughter for a brief interval. “ Your aunt,” he added, “ can- 
not live more than two years ; of this I am assured by her 
friends. Think of it seriously. Fortune does not visit us 
every day. Consult your friends. I am sure that every per- 
son of good sense will be of my opinion.” She answered, 
“ that as she desired no other happiness henceforth in the 
world than in promoting that of her daughter, she hoped to 
be allowed to leave her departure for France entirely to her 
own inclination.” 

Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an opportunity of 
separating Paul and Virginia for a short time, and provide by 
this means, for their mutual felicity at a future period. She 
took her daughter aside, and said to her, — “ My dear child, 
our servants are now old. Paul is still very young, Margaret 
is advanced in years, and I am already infirm. If I should 
die what would become of you, without fortune, in the midst 
of these deserts ? You would then be left alone, without any 
person who could afford you much assistance, and would be 
obliged to labor without Ceasing, as a hired servant, in order 
to support your wretched existence. This idea overcomes me 
with sorrow.” Virginia answered, — “ God has appointed us 
to labor, and to bless him every day. Up to this time he has 
never forsaken us, and he never will forsake us in time to 
come. His providence watches most especially over the un- 
fortunate. You have told me this very often, my dear mother ! 
I cannot resolve to leave you.” Madame de la Tour replied 
with much emotion, — “ I have no other aim than to render you 
happy, and to marry you one day to Paul, who is not really 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


5 * 

your brother. Remember then that his fortune depends upon 
you.” 

A young girl who is in love believes that every one else is 
ignorant of her passion ; she throws over her eyes the veil 
with which she covers the feelings of her heart ; but when it 
is once lifted by a friendly hand, the hidden sorrows of her 
attachment escape as through a newly-opened barrier, and the 
sweet outpourings of unrestrained confidence succeed to her 
former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply affected by this 
new proof of her mother’s tenderness, related to her the cruel 
struggles she had undergone, of which heaven alone had been 
witness ; she saw, she said, the hand of Providence in the 
assistance of an affectionate mother, who approved of her 
attachment ; and would guide her by her counsels ; and as 
she was now strengthened by such support, every considera- 
tion led her to remain with her mother, without anxiety for 
the present, and without apprehension for the future. 

Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this confidential® con- 
versation had produced an effect altogether different from 
that which she expected, said, — “ My dear child, I do not 
wish to constrain you ; think over it at leisure, but conceal 
your affection from Paul. It is better not to let a man know 
that the heart of his mistress is gained.” 

Virginia and her mother were sitting together by themselves 
the same evening, when a tall man, dressed in a blue cossock, 
entered their cottage. He was a missionary priest and the 
confessor of Madame de la Tour and her daughter, who had 
now been sent them by the governor. “ My children,” he 
exclaimed as he entered, “ God be praised ! you are now rich. 
You can now attend to the kind suggestions of your benevo- 
lent hearts, and do good to the poor. I know what Monsieur 
de la Bourdonnais has said to you, and what you have said in 
reply. Your health, dear madam, obliges you to remain here 
but you, young lady, are without excuse. We must obey the 
direction of Providence : and we must always obey our aged 
relations, even when they are unjust. A sacrifice is required 
of you ; but it is the will of God. Our Lord devoted himself 
for you ; and you in imitation of his example, must give up 
something for the welfare of your family. Your voyage to 
France will end happily. You will surely consent to go, my 
dear young lady.” 

Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, trembling, “ if it 
is the command of God, I will not presume to oppose.it. Let 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


59 


the will of God be done ! ” As she uttered these words, she 
wept. 

The priest went away, in order to inform the governor of 
the success of his mission. In the meantime Madame de la 
Tour sent Domingo to request me to come to her, that she 
might consult me respecting Virginia’s departure. I was not 
at all of opinion that she ought to go. I consider it as a fixed 
principle of happiness, that we ought to prefer the advantages 
of nature to those of fortune, and never go in search of that 
at a distance, which we may find at home, — in our own bosoms. 
But what could be expected from my advice, in opposition to 
the illusions of a splendid fortune ? — or from my simple rea- 
soning, when in competition with the prejudices of the world, 
and an authority held sacred by Madame de la Tour? This 
lady indeed had only consulted me out of politeness : she had 
ceased to deliberate since she had heard the decision of her 
confessor. Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the advan- 
tages she expected for her son from the possession of Vir- 
ginia’s -fortune,, had hitherto opposed her departure, made no 
further objections. As for Paul, in ignorance of what had 
been determined, but alarmed at the secret conversations 
which Virginia had been holding with her mother, he aban- 
doned himself to melancholy. “ They are plotting something 
against me,’ cried he, “ for they conceal everything from 
me.” 

A report having in the meantime been spread in the island 
that fortune had visited these rocks, merchants of every de- 
scription were seen climbing their steep ascent. Now, for the 
first time, were seen displayed in these humble huts the richest 
stuffs of India ; the fine dimity of Gondelore ; the handker- 
chiefs of Pellicate and Masulipatan ; the olain, striped, and 
embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beautifully transparent ; 
the delicately white cottons of Surat, and linens of all colors. 
They also brought with them the gorgeous silks of China, 
satin damasks, some white, and others grass-green and bright 
red ; pink taffetas, with a profusion of satin and gauze of 
Tonquin, both plain and decorated with flowers ; soft pekins, 
downy as cloth ; with white and yellow nankeens, and the 
calicoes of Madagascar. 

Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to purchase 
whatever she liked ; she 'only examined the goods, and in- 
quired the price, to take care that the dealers did not cheat 
her. Virginia made choice of everything she thought would 
be useful or agreeable to her mother, or to Margaret and her 


6o 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


son. “ This,” said she, “ will be wanted for furnishing the 
cottage, and that will be very useful to Mary and Domingo.” 
In short, the bag of piastres was almost emptied before she 
even began to consider her own wants ; and she was obliged 
to receive back for her own use a share of the presents which 
she had distributed among the family circle. 

Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of these gifts of 
fortune, which he felt were a presage of Virginia’s departure, 
came a few days after to my dwelling. With an air of deep 
despondency he said to me. — “ My sister is going away ; she 
is already making preparations for her voyage. I conjure you 
to come and exert your influence over her mother and mine, 
in order to detain her here.” I could not refuse the young 
man’s solicitations, although well convinced that my repre- 
sentations would be unavailing. 

Virginia had ever appeared to me charming when clad in 
the coarse cloth of Bengal, with a red handkerchief tied 
around her head ; you may therefore imagine how much her 
beauty was increased, when she was attired in the graceful 
and elegant costume worn by the ladies of this country ! She 
had on a white muslin dress lined with pink taffeta. Her 
somewhat tall and slender figure was shown to advantage in 
her new attire, and the simple arrangement of her hair 
accorded admirably with the form of her head. Her fine 
blue eyes were filled with an expression of melancholy; and 
the struggles of passion, with which her heart was agitated, 
imparted a flush to her cheek, and to her voice a tone of 
deep emotion. The contrast between her pensive look and 
gay habiliments rendered her more interesting than ever, nor 
was it possible to see or hear her unmoved. Paul became 
more and more melancholy ; and at length Margaret, dis- 
tressed at the situation of her son, took him aside, and said 
to him, — “Why, my child, will you cherish vain hopes, which 
will only render your disappointment more bitter ? It is 
time for me to make known the secret of your life and of 
mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs, by her mother’s 
side, to a rich and noble family, while you are but the son of 
a poor, peasant girl ; and what is worse, you are illegitimate.” 

Paul, who had never heard this last expression before, 
inquired with eagerness its meaning. His mother replied, 
“I was not married to your father. When I was a girl, 
seduced by love, I was guilty of a weakness of which you are 
the offspring. The consequence of my fault is, that you are 
deprived of the protection of a father’s family, and by my 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


61 


flight from home, you have also lost that of your mother’s. 
Unfortunate child ! you have no relation in the world but 
me ! ” — and she shed a flood of tears. Paul, pressing her in 
his arms, exclaimed, “ Oh, my dear mother ! since I have no 
relation in the world but you, I will love you all the more. 
But what a secret have you just disclosed to me ! I now see 
the reason why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged herself 
so much from me for the last two months, and why she has 
determined to go to France. Ah ! I perceive too well that 
she despises me ! ” 

The hour of supper being arrived, we gathered round the 
table ; but the different sensations with which we were 
agitated left us little inclination to eat, and the meal, if such 
it may be called, passed in silence. Virginia was the first to 
rise ; she went out, and seated herself on the very spot where 
we now are. Paul hastened after her, and sat down by her 
side. Both of them, for some time, kept a profound silence. 
It was one of those delicious nights which are so common 
between the tropics, and to the beauty of which no pencil can do 
justice. The moon appeared in the midst of the firmament, 
surrounded by a curtain of clouds, which was gradually 
unfolded by her beams. Her light insensibly spread itself 
over the mountains of the island, and their distant peaks 
glistened with a silvery green. The winds were perfectly 
still. We heard among the woods, at the bottom of the 
valleys, and on the summits of the rocks, the piping cries and 
the soft notes of the birds, wantoning in their nests, and 
rejoicing in the brightness of the night and the serenity of 
the atmosphere. The hum of insects was heard in the grass. 
The stars sparkled in the heavens, and their lucid orbs were 
reflected, in trembling sparkles, from the tranquil bosom of 
the ocean. Virginia’s eye wandered distractedly over its vast 
and gloomy horizon, distinguishable from the shore of the 
island only by the red fires in the fishing boats. She 
perceived at the entrance of the harbor a light and a shadow ; 
these were the watchlight and the hull of the vessel in which 
she was to embark for Europe, and which, all ready for sea, 
lay at anchor, waiting for a breeze. Affected at this sight, 
she turned away her head, in order to hide her tears from 
Paul. 

Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were seated at a 
little distance, beneath the plantain trees ; and, owing to the 
stillness of the night, we distinctly heard their conversation, 
which I have not forgotten. 


62 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


Paul said to her, — “ You are going away from us, they tell 
me, in three days. You do not fear, then, to encounter the 
danger of the sea, at the sight of which you are so much 
terrified ? ” “ I must perform my duty,’’ answered Virginia, 

“by obeying my parent.” “You leave us,” resumed Paul, 
“ for a distant relation, whom you have never s'een.” “ Alas ! ” 
cried Virginia, “ I would have remained here my whole life, 
but my mother would not have it so. My confessor, too, told 
me it was the will of God that I should go, and that life was 
a scene of trials ! — and Oh ! this is indeed a severe one.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Paul, “ you could find so many 
reasons for going, and not one for remaining here ! Ah ! 
there is one reason for your departure that you have not 
mentioned. Riches have great attractions. You will soon 
find in the new world to which you are going, another, to 
whom you will give the name of brother, which you bestow 
on me no more. You will choose that brother from amongst 
persons who are worthy of you by their birth, and by a 
fortune which I have not to offer. But where can you go to 
be happier ? On what shore will you land and find it dearer 
to you than the spot which gave you birth ? — and where will 
you form around you a society more delightful than this, by 
which you are so much beloved ? Plow will you bear to live 
without your mother’s caresses, to which you are so much 
accustomed ? What will become of her, already advanced 
in years, when she no longer sees you at her side at table, in 
the house, in the walks, where she used to lean upon you ? 
What will become of my mother, who loves you with the 
same affection ? What shall I say to comfort them when I 
see them weeping for your absence ? Cruel Virginia ! I say 
nothing to you of myself ; but what will become of me, when 
in the morning I shall no more see you ; when the evening- 
will come, and not reunite us ? — when I shall gaze on these 
two palm trees, planted at our birth, and so long the witnesses 
of our mutual friendship ? Ah ! since your lot is changed, — 
since you seek in a far country other possessions than the 
fruits of my labor, let me go with you in the vessel in which 
you are about to embark. I will sustain your spirits in the 
midst of those tempests which terrify you so much even 
on shore. I will lay my head upon your bosom ; I will warm 
your heart upon my own ; and in France, where you are 
going in search of fortune and of grandeur, I will wait upon 
vou as your slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will 
find me, in those palaces where I shall see you receiving the 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


homage and adoration of all, rich and noble enough to make 
you the greatest of all sacrifices, by dying at your feet.” 

The violence of his emotions stopped his utterance, and we 
then heard Virginia, who, in a voice broken by sobs, uttered 
these words : — “ It is for you that I go, — for you whom I see 
tired to death every day by the labor of sustaining two help- 
less families. If I have accepted this opportunity of becom- 
ing rich, it is only to return a thousand-fold the good which 
you have done us. Can any fortune be equal to your friend- 
ship ? Why do you talk about your birth ? Ah 1 if it were 
possible for me still to have a brother, should I make choice 
of any other than you ? Oh, Paul, Paul ! you are far dearer 
to me than a brother ! How much has it cost me to repulse 
you from me ! Help me to tear myself from what I value more 
than existence, till Heaven shall bless our union. But I will, 
stay" or go — I will live or die, — dispose of me as you will. 
Unhappy that I am ! I could have repelled your caresses; 
but I cannot support your affliction.” 

At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, holding 
her pressed close to his bosom, in a piercing tone, “ I will go 
with her, — nothing shall ever part us.” We all ran towards 
him ; and Madame de la Tour said to him, “ My son, if you 
go, what will become of us 1 ” 

Pie, trembling, repeated after her the words, — “ My son! — 
my son ! You my mother ! ” cried he; “ you who would sep- 
arate the brother from the sister ! We have both been nour- 
ished at your bosom ; we have both been reared upon your 
knees; we have learnt of you to love one another; we have 
said so a thousand times ; and now you would separate her 
from me ! — you would send her to Europe, that inhospitable 
country which refused you an asylum, and to relations by 
whom you yourself were abandoned. You will tell me that I 
have no right over her, and that she is not my sister. She is 
everything to me ; — my riches, my birth, my family, — all that 
I have ! I know no other. We have had but one roof, — one 
cradle, — and we will have but one grave ! If she goes 1 will 
follow her. The governor will prevent me ! Will he prevent 
me from flinging myself into the sea ? — will he prevent me 
from allowing her by swimming? The sea cannot be more 
fatal to me than the land. Since I cannot live with her, at 
least I will die before her eyes, far from you. Inhuman 
mother ! — woman without compassion ! — may the ocean, to 
which you trust her, restore her to you no more ! May the 
waves, rolling back our bodies amid the shingles of this beach. 


6 4 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


give you, in the loss of .your two children, an eternal subject 
of remorse ! ” 

At these words, I seized him in my arms, for despair had 
deprived him of reason. His eyes sparkled wilh fire, the 
perspiration fell in great drops from his face ; his knees 
trembled, and I felt his heart beat violently against his burn- 
ing bosom. 

Virginia, alarmed, said to him,— “ Oh, my dear Paul, I call 
to witness the pleasures of our early age, your griefs and my 
own, and everything that can forever bind two unfortunate 
beings to each other, that if I remain at home, I will live but 
for you ; that if I go, I will one day return to be yours. I 
call you all to witness ; — you who have reared me from my 
infancy, who dispose of my life, and who see my tears. I swear 
by that Heaven which hears me, by the sea which I am going 
to pass, by the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by a 
falsehood.” 

As the sun softens and precipitates an icy rock from the 
summit of one of the Appenines, so the impetuous passions of 
the young man were subdued by the voice of her he loved. 
Hs bent his head, and a torrent of tears fell from his eyes. 
His mother, mingling her tears with his, held him in her arms, 
but was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, half distracted, 
said to me, “ I can bear this no longer. My heart is quite 
broken. This unfortunate voyage shall not take place. Do 
take my son home with you. No one of us has had any rest 
the whole week.” 

I said to Paul, “ My dear friend, your sister shall remain 
here. To-morrow we will talk to the governor about it ; leave 
your family to take some rest, and come and pass the night 
with me. It is late ; it is midnight ; the southern cross is 
just above the horizon.” 

v He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; and after a 
night of great agitation, he arose at break of day, and returned 
home. 

But why should 1 continue any longer to you the recital of 
this history ? There is but one aspect of human existence 
which we can ever contemplate with pleasure. Like the globe 
upon which we revolve, the fleeting course of life is but a day; 
and if ope part of that day be visited by light, the other is 
thrown into darkness. 

“ My father,” I answered, “ finish, I conjure you, the history 
which you have begun in a manner so interesting. If the 
images of happiness are the most pleasing, those of misfortune 


PAUL AXD 1 ’ IK G IX I A. 65 

are the more instructive. Tell me what became of the 
unhappy yqung man.” 

The first object beheld by Paul in his way home was the 
negro woman Mary, who, mounted on a rock, was earnestly 
looking toward the sea. As soon as he perceived her, he 
called to her from a distance, — “ Where is Virginia ? ” Mary 
turned her head towards her young master, and began to weep. 
Paul, distracted, retracing his steps, ran to the harbor. He 
was informed, that Virginia had embarked at breal/ of day, 
and that the vessel had immediately set sail, and was now out 
of sight. He instantly returned to the plantation, which he 
crossed without uttering a word. 

Quite perpendicular as appears the walls of rocks behind 
us, those green platforms which separate their summits are so 
many stages, by means of which you may reach, through some 
difficult paths, that cone of sloping and inaccessible rocks, 
which is called The Thumb. At the foot of that cone is an 
extended slope of ground, covered with lofty trees, and so 
steep and elevated -that it looks, like a forest in the air, sur- 
rounded by tremendous precipices. The clouds, which are 
constantly attracted round the summit of The Thumb, supply 
innumerable rivulets, which fall to so great a depth in the 
valley situated on the other side of the mountain, that from 
this elevated point the sound of their cataracts cannot be heard. 
From that spot you can discern a considerable part of the 
island, diversified by precipices and mountain peaks, and 
amongst others, Peter-Booth, and the Three Breasts, with 
their valleys full of woods. You also command an extensive 
view of the ocean, and can even perceive the Isle of Bourbon, 
forty leagues to the westward. From the summit of that stu- 
pendous pile of rocks Paul caught sight of the vessel which 
was bearing away Virginia, and which now, ten leagues out at 
sea, appeared like a black spot in the midst of the ocean. 
He remained a great part of die day with his eyes fixed upon 
this object : when it had disappeared, he still fancied he 
beheld it ; and when, at length, the traces which clung to his 
imagination were lost in the midst of the horizon, he seated 
himself on that wild point, forever beaten by the winds, which 
never cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum-trees, 
and the hoarse and moaning murmurs of which, similar to the 
distant sound of organs, inspire a profound melancholy. On 
this spot I found him, his .head reclining on the rock, and his 
eyes fixed upon the ground. I had followed him from the 
earliest dawn, and, after much importunity, I prevailed on him 

5 


66 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


to descend from the heights, and return to his family. I went 
home with him, where the first impulse of his mind* on seeing 
Madame de la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having 
deceived him. She told us that a favorable wind -having 
sprung up at three o’clock in the morning, and the vessel 
being ready to sail, the governor, attended by some of his staff 
and the missionary, had come with a palanquin to fetch her 
daughter, and that, notwithstanding Virginia’s objections, her 
own tears and entreaties, and the lamentations of Margaret, 
everybody exclaiming all the time that it was for the general wel- 
fare, they had carried her away almost dying. “ At least,” cried 
Paul, “ if I had bid her farewell, I should now be more calm. 
I would have said to her, — 4 Virginia, if, during the time we 
have lived together, one word may have escaped me which 
has offended you, before you leave me forever, tell me that 
you forgive me.’ I would have said to her, — ‘ Since I am 
destined to see you no more, farewell, my dear Virginia, fare- 
well ! Live far from me contented and happy ! ’ ” When he 
saw that his mother and Madame de la Tour were weeping, 
— “You must now,” said he, “ seek some other hand to wipe 
away your tears ; ” and then, rushing out of the house, and 
groaning aloud, he wandered up and down the plantation. 
He hovered in particular about those spots which had been 
most endearing to Virginia. He said to the goats, and their 
little ones, which followed him, bleating, — “ What do you 
want of me ? You will see with me no more her who used to 
feed you with her own hand.” He went to the bower called 
Virginia’s Resting-place, and, as the birds flew around him, 
exclaimed, “ Poor birds ! you will fly no more to meet her who 
cherished you S ” — and observing Fidele running backwards 
and forwards in search of her, lie heaved a deep sigh, and 
cried, — “ Ah ! you will never find her again.” At length he 
went and seated himself upon a rock where he had conversed 
with her the preceeding evening ; and at the sight of the ocean 
upon which he had seen the vessel disappear which had 
borne her away, his heart overflowed with anguish, and he 
wept bitterly. 

We continually watched his movements, apprehensive of 
some fatal consequence from the violent agitation of his mind. 
His mother and Madame de la Tour conjured him, in the 
most tender manner, not to increase their affliction by, his 
despair. At length the latter soothed his mind by lavishing 
upon him epithets calculated to awaken his hopes, — calling 
him her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, whom she destined 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


&7 


for her daughter. She persuaded him to return home, and to 
take some food. He seated himself next to the place which 
used to be occupied by the companion of his childhood ; and, 
as if she had still been present, he spoke to her, and made as 
though he would offer her whatever he knew was most agree- 
able to her taste : then, starting from this dream of fancy, he 
began to weep. For some days he employed himself in 
gathering everything which belonged to Virginia, the last 
nosegays she had worn, the cocoa-shell from which she used 
to drink ; and after kissing a thousand times these relics of 
his beloved, to him the most precious treasures which the> 
world contained, he hid them in his bosom. Amber does not 
shed so sweet a perfume as the veriest trifles touched byi 
those we love. At length, perceiving that the indulgence o£- 
his grief increased that of his mother and Madame de la Tour 
and that the wants of the family demanded continual labor, 
he began, with the assistance of Domingo, to repair the 
damage done to the garden. 

But, soon after, this young man, hitherto indifferent as a 
Creole to everything that was passing in the world, begged of 
me to teach him to read and write, in order that we might 
correspond with Virginia. He afterwards wished to obtain a 
knowledge of geography, that he might form some idea of the 
country where she would disembark ; and of history, that he 
might know something of the manners of the society in which 
she would be placed. The powerful sentiment of love, which 
directed his present studies, had already instructed him in 
agriculture, and in the art of laying out grounds with advan- 
tage and beauty. It must be admitted, that to the fondj 
dreams of this restless and ardent passion, mankind are’ 
indebted for most of the arts and sciences, while its disap- 
pointments have given birth to philosophy, which teaches us 
to bear up under misfortune. Love, thus, the general link of 
all beings, becomes the great spring of society, by inciting us 
to knowledge as well as to pleasure. 

Paul found little satisfaction in the study of geography, 
which, instead of describing the natural history of each 
country, gave only a view of its political divisions and bound- 
aries. History, and especially modern history, interested him 
little more. He there saw only general and periodical evils, 
the causes of which he could not discover : wars without 
either motive or reason ; uninteresting intrigues ; with nations 
destitute of principle, and princes void of humanity. To this 
branch of reading he preferred romances, which, being chiefly 


<58 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


occupied by the feelings and concerns of men, sometimes 
represented situations similar to his own. Thus, no book 
gave him so much pleasure as Telemachus, from the pictures 
it draws of pastoral life, and of the passions which are most 
natural to the human breast. He read aloud to his mother 
and Madame de la Tour those parts which affected him most 
sensibly ; but sometimes, touched by the most tender remem- 
brances, his emotion would choke his utterance, and his eyes 
be filled with tears. He fancied he had found in Virginia 
the dignity and wisdom of Antiope, united to the misfortunes 
and the tenderness of Eucharis. With very different sensa- 
tions he perused our fashionable novels, filled with licentious 
morals and maxims, and when he was informed that these 
works drew a tolerably faithful picture of European society, 
he trembled, and not without some appearance of reason, lest 
Virginia should become corrupted by it, and forg’et him. 

More than a year and a half, indeed, passed away before 
Madame de la Tour received any tidings of her aunt or her 
daughter. During that period she only accidentally heard 
that Virginia had safely arrived in France. At length, how- 
ever, a vessel which stopped here in its way to the Indies 
brought a packet to Madame de la Tour, and a letter written 
by Virginia’s own hand. Although this amiable and con- 
siderate girl had written in a guarded manner that she might 
not wound her mother’s feelings, it appeared evident enough 
that she was unhappy. The letter painted so naturally her 
situation and her character, that I have retained it almost 
word for word. 

“ My dear and beloved mother, 

“ I have already sent you several letters, written by my own 
hand, but having received no answer, I am afraid they have 
not reached you. I have better. hopes for this, from the means 
I have now gained of sending you tidings of myself, and of 
hearing from you. 

“ I have shed many tears since our separation, I who never 
used to weep, but for the misfortunes of others ! My- aunt 
was much astonished, when, having, upon my arrival, inquired 
what accomplishments I possessed, I told her that I could 
neither read nor write. She asked me what then I had 
learnt, since I came into the world ; and when I answered 
that I had been taught to take care of the household affairs, 
and to obey your will, she told me that I had received the 
education of a servant. The next day she placed me as a 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


69 


boarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I have masters of 
all kinds, who teach me among other things, history, geogra- 
phy, grammar, mathematics, and riding on horseback. But I 
have so little capacity for all these sciences, that I fear I shall 
make but little progress with my masters. I feel that I am a 
very poor creature, with very little ability to learn what they 
teach. My aunt’s kindness, however, does not decrease. 
She gives me new dresses every season ; and she has placed 
two waiting women with me, who are dressed like fine ladies. 
She has made me take the title of countess ; but has obliged 
me to renounce the name of La Tour, which is as dear to me 
as it is to you, from all you have told me of the sufferings my 
father endured in order to marry you. She has given me in 
place of your name that of your family, which is also dear to 
me, because it was your name when a girl. Seeing myself in 
so splendid a situation, I implored her to let me send you 
something to assist you. But. how shall I repeat her answer ! 
Yet you have desired me always to tell you the truth. She 
told me then that a little would be of no use to you, and that 
a great deal would only encumber you in the simple life you 
led. As you know I could not write, I endeavored upon my 
arrival, to send you tidings of myself by another hand ; but, 
finding no person here in whom I could place confidence, I 
applied night and day to learn to read and write, and Heaven, 
who saw my motive for learning, no doubt assisted my 
endeavors, for I succeeded in both in a short time. I 
entrusted my first letters to some of the ladies here, who, I 
have reason to think, carried them to my aunt. This time I 
have recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I send you 
her direction, by means of which I shall receive your answer. 
My aunt has forbid me holding any correspondence whatever, 
with any one, lest, she says, it should occasion an obstacle to 
the great views she has for my advantage. No person is 
allowed to see me at the gate but herself, and an old noble- 
man, one of her friends, who, she says, is much pleased with 
me. I am sure I am not at all so with him, nor should I, 
even if it were possible for me to be pleased with any one at 
present. 

“ I live in all the splendor of affluence, and have not a sou 
at my disposal. They say I might make an improper use of 
money. Even my clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, 
who quarrel about them before 1 have left them off. In the 
midst of riches I am poorer than when I lived with you ; for 1 
have nothing to give away. When I found that the great accom- 


70 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


plishments they taught me would not procure me the power 
of doing the smallest good, I had recourse to my needle, 
of which happily you had taught me the use. I send several 
pairs of stockings of my own making for you and my mamma 
Margaret, a cap for Domingo, and one of my red handker- 
chiefs for Mary. I also send with this packet some kernels, 
and seeds of various kinds of fruits which I gathered in the 
abbey park during my hours of recreation. I have also sent 
a few seeds of violets, daisies, buttercups, poppies and scabious, 
whichl picked up in the fields. There are much more beautiful 
flowers in the meadows of this country than in ours, but 
ncbody cares for them. I am sure that you and my mamma 
Margaret will be better pleased with this bag of seeds, than 
than you were with the bag of piastres, which was the cause 
of our separation and of my tears. It will give me great 
delight if you should one day see apple-trees growing by the 
side of our plantations, and elms blending their foliage with 
that of our cocoa trees. You will fancy yourself in Normandy, 
which you love so much. 

“ You desired me to relate to you my joys and my griefs. 
I have no joys far from you. As for my griefs, I endeavor 
to soothe them by reflecting that I am in the situation in 
which it was the will of God that you should place me. But 
my greatest affliction is, that no one here speaks to me of you, 
and that I cannot speak of you to any one, My femmes de 
chambre, or rather those of my aunt, for they belong more 
to her than to me, told me the other day, when I wished to 
turn the conversation upon the objects most dear to me : 
‘ Remember, mademoiselle, that you are a French woman, 
and must forget the land of savages.’ Ah ! sooner will I 
forget myself, than forget the spot on which I was born and 
where you dwell ! It is this country which is to me a land of 
savages, for I live alone, having no one to whom I can impart 
those feelings of tenderness for you which I shall bear with 
me to the grave. I am, 

“ My dearest and beloved mother, 

“ Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 

“ Virgin ie de La Tour.” 

“ I recommend to your goodness Mary and Domingo, who 
took so much care of my infancy ; caress Fidele for me, who 
found me in the wood.” 

Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said one w*ord 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


7i 


of him, — she', who had not forgotten even the house-dog. 
But he was not aware that, however long a woman’s letter 
may be, she never fails to leave her dearest sentiments for the 
end. 

In a postscript Virginia particularly recommended to Paul’s 
attention two kinds of seed, — those of the violet and the 
scabious. She gave him some instructions upon the natural 
characters of these flowers, and the spots most proper for their 
cultivation. “ The violet,” she said, “ produces a little flower 
of a dark purple color, which delights to conceal itself be- 
neath the bushes ; but it is soon discovered by its wide-spread- 
ing perfume.” She desired that these seeds might be sown 
by the border of the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa-tree. 
“ The scabious,” she added, “ produces a beautiful flower of 
a pale blue, and a black ground spotted with white. You 
might fancy it was in mourning ; and for this reason it is Also 
called the widow’s flower. It grows best in bleak spots, 
beaten by the winds.” She begged him to sow this upon the 
rock where she had spoken to him at night for the last time, 
and that, in remembrance of her, he would henceforth give it 
the name of the Rock of Adieus. 

She had put these seeds into a little purse, the tissue of 
which was exceedingly simple; but which appeared above all 
price to Paul, when he saw on it a P and a' V entwined to- 
gether, and knew that the beautiful hair which formed the 
cipher was the hair of Virginia. 

The whole family listened with tears to the reading of the 
letter of this amiable and virtuous girl. Her mother answered 
it in the name of the little society, desiring her to remain or 
return as she thought proper : and assuring her, that happi- 
ness had left their dwelling since her departure, and that, for 
herself, she was inconsolable. 

Paul also sent her a very long letter, in which he assured*- 
her that he would arrange the garden in a manner agreeable 
to her taste, and might mingle together in it the plants of 
Europe with those of Africa, as she had blended their initials 
together in her work. He sent her some fruit from the cocoa- 
trees of the fountain, now arrived at maturity ; telling her, 
that he would not add any of the other productions of the 
island, that the desire of seeing them again might hasten her 
return. He conjured her to comply as soon as possible with 
the ardent wishes of her family, and above all, with his own, 
since he could never hereafter taste happiness away from 
her. 


72 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


Paul sowed with a careful hand the European seeds, par- 
ticularly the violet and scabious, the flowers of which seemed 
to bear some analogy to the character and present situation 
of Virginia, by whom they had been so especially recom- 
mended ; but either they were dried up in the voyage, or the 
climate in this part of the world is unfavorable to their growth, 
for a very small number of them even came up, and not one 
arrived at full perfection. 

In the meantime, envy, which ever comes to embittered 
human happiness, particularly in the French colonies, spread 
some reports in the island which gdve Paul much uneasiness. 
The passengers in the vessel which brought Virginia’s letter, 
asserted that she was on the point of being married, and 
named the nobleman of the court to whom she was engaged. 
Some even went so far as to declare that the union had 
already taken place, and that they themselves had witnessed 
the ceremony. Paul at first despised the report, brought by 
a merchant vessel, as he knew that they often spread erron- 
eous intelligence in their passage ; but some of the inhabi- 
tants of the island, with malignant pity, affecting to bewail 
the event, he was soon led to attach some degree of belief to 
this cruel intelligence. Besides, in some of the novels he had 
lately read, he had seen that perfidy was treated as a subject 
of pleasantry ; and knowing that these books contained pretty 
faithful representations of European manners, he feared that 
the heart of Virginia was corrupted, and had forgotten its 
former engagements. Thus his new acquirements had already 
only served to render him more miserable ; and his apprehen- 
sions were much increased by the circumstance, that though 
several ships touched here from Europe, within the six months 
immediately following the arrival of her letter, not one of 
them brought any tidings of Virginia. 

This unfortunate young man, with a heart torn by the most 
cruel agitation, often came to visit me, in the hope of confirm- 
ing or banishing his uneasiness, by my experience of the 
world. 

I live, as I have already told you, a league and a half from 
this point, upon the banks of a little river which glides along 
the Sloping Mountain : there I lead a solitary life, without 
wife, children, or slaves. 

After having enjoyed, and lost the rare felicity of living 
with a congenial mind, the state of life which appears the 
least wretched is doubtless that of solitude. Every man who 
has much cause of complaint against his fellow-creatures 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


73 


seeks to be alone. It is also remarkable that all those nations 
which have been brought to wretchedness by their opinions, 
their manners, or their forms of government, have produced 
numerous classes of citizens altogether devoted to solitude 
and celibacy. Such were the Egyptians in their decline, and 
the Greeks of the Lower Empire ; and such in our days are 
the Indians, the Chinese, the modern Greeks, the Italians, 
and the greater part of the eastern and southern nations of 
Europe. Solitude, by removing meR from the miseries which 
follow in the train of social intercourse, brings therm in some 
degree back to the unsophisticated enjoyment of nature. In 
the midst of modern society, broken up by innumerable prej- 
udices, the mind is in a constant turmoil of agitation. It is 
incessantly revolving in itself a thousand tumultuous and 
contradictory opinions, by which the members of an ambi- 
tious and miserable circle seek to raise themselves above each 
other. But in solitude the soul lays aside the morbid illusions 
which troubled her, and resumes the pure consciousness of 
herself, of nature, and of its Ai\thor, as the muddy water of a 
torrent which has ravaged the plains, coming to rest, and dif- 
fusing itself over some low grounds out of its course, deposits 
there the slime it has taken up, and, resuming its wonted 
transparency, reflects, with its own shores, the verdure of the 
earth and the light of heaven. Thus does solitude recruit the 
powers of the body as well as those of the mind. It is among 
hermits that are found the men who carry human existence to 
its extreme limits ; such are the Bramins of India. In brief, 
I consider solitude so necessary to happiness, even in the 
world itself, that it appears to me impossible to derive lasting 
pleasure from any pursuit whatever, or to regulate our con- 
duct by any stable principle, if we do not create for ourselves 
a mental void, whence our own views rarely emerge, and into 
which the opinions of others never enter. I do not mean to 
say that man ought to live absolutely alone ; he is connected 
by his necessities with all mankind ; his labors are due to 
man : and he owes something too to the rest of nature. ftut, 
as God has given to each of us organs perfectly adapted to 
the elements of the globe on which we live, — feet for the soil, 
lungs for the air, eyes for the light, without the power of 
changing the use of any of the these .faculties, he has reserved 
for himself, as the Author of life, that which is its chief organ, 
— the heart. 

I thus passed my days far from mankind, whom I wished 
to serve, and by whom I have been persecuted. After having 


74 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


travelled over many countries of Europe, and some parts of 
America and Africa, I at length pitched my tent in this thinly- 
peopled island, allured by its mild climate and its solitudes. 
A cottage which I built in the woods, at the foot of a tree, a 
little field which ! cleared with my own hands, a river which 
glides before my door, suffice for my wants and for my pleas- 
ures. I blend with these enjoyments the perusal of some 
chosen books, which teach me to become better. They make 
that world, which I have abandoned, still contribute some v - 
thing to my happiness. They lay before me pictures of those 
passions which render its inhabitants so miserable ; and in 
the comparison I am thus led to make between their lot and 
my own, I feel a kind of negative enjoyment. Like a man 
saved from shipwreck, and thrown upon a rock, I contem- 
plate, from my solitude, the storms which rage through the 
rest of the world ; and my repose seems more profound from 
the distant sound of the tempest. As men have ceased to fail 
in my way, I no longer view them with aversion ; I only joity 
them. If I sometimes fall in with an unfortunate being, I 
try to help him by my counsels, as a passer-by on the brink of 
a torrent extends his hand to save a wretch from drowning. 
But I have hardly ever found but the innocent attentive to my 
voice. Nature calls the majority of men to her in vain. Each 
of them forms an image of her for himself, and invests her 
with his own passions. He pursues during the whole of his 
life this vain phantom, which leads him astray ; and he after- 
wards complains to Heaven of the misfortunes which he has 
thus created for himself. Among the many children of mis- 
fortune whom 1 have endeavored to lead back to the enjoy- 
ments of nature, I have not found one but was intoxicated 
with his own miseries. They have listened to me at first with 
attention, in the hope that I could teach them how to acquire 
glory or fortune, but when they found that I only wished to 
instruct them how to dispense with these chimeras, their 
attention has been converted into pity, because I did not 
prize their miserable happiness. They blamed my solitary 
life ; they alleged that they alone were useful to men, and 
they endeavored to draw me into their vortex. But if I com- 
municate with all, I lay myself open to none. It is often suf- 
ficient for me to serve as a lesson to myself. In my present 
tranquility, I pass in review the agitating pursuits of my past 
life, to which I formerly attached so much value, — patronage, 
fortune, reputation, pleasure, and the opinions which are ever 
at strife over all the earth. I compare the men whom I have 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


75 


seen disputing furiously over these vanities, and who are no 
more, to the tiny waves of my rivulet, which break in foam 
against its rocky bed, and disappear, never to return. As for 
me, I suffer myself to float calmly down the stream of time to 
the shoreless ocean of futurity; while, in the contemplation 
of the present harmony of nature, I elevate my soul towards 
its supreme Author, and hope for a more happy lot in another 
state of existence. 

Although you cannot descry from my hermitage, situated in 
the midst of a forest, that immense variety of objects which 
this elevated spot presents, the grounds are disposed with 
peculiar beauty, at least to one who, like me, prefers the 
seclusion of a home scene to great and extensive prospects. 
The river which glides before my door passes in a straight 
line across the woods, looking like a long canal shaded by all 
kinds of trees. Among them are the gum tree, the ebony 
tree, and that which is here called bois de pomme, with olive 
and cinnamon-wood trees ; while in some parts the cabbage- 
palm trees raise their naked stems more than a hundred feet 
high, their summits crowned with a cluster of leaves, and 
towering above the woods like one forest piled upon another. 
Lianas, of various foliage, intertwining themselves among the 
trees, form, here, arcades of foliage, there, long canopies of 
verdure. Most of these trees shed aromatic odors so power- 
ful, that the garments of a traveller, who has passed through 
the forest, often retain for hours the most delicious fragrance. 
In the season when they produce their lavish blossoms, they 
appear as if half-covered with snow. Towards the end of 
summer, various kinds of foreign birds hasten, impelled by 
some inexplicable instinct, from unknown regions on the other 
side of immense oceans, to feed upon the grain and other 
vegetable productions of the island ; and the brilliancy of 
fheir plumage forms a striking contrast to the more sombre- 
tints of the foliage, embrowned by the sun. Among these 
are various kinds of parroquets, and the blue pigeon, called 
here the pigeon of Holland. Monkeys, the domestic inhab- 
itants of our forests, sport upon the dark branches of the 
trees, from which they are easily distinguished by their gray 
and greenish skin, and their black visages. Some hang, 
suspended by the tail, and swing themselves in air ; others 
leap from branch to branch, bearing their young in their arms. 
The murderous gun has never affrighted these peaceful child- 
ren of nature. You hear nothing but sounds of joy, — the 
warblings and unknown notes of birds from the countries of 


76 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 

the south, repeated from a distance by the echoes of the 
forest. The river, which pours, in foaming eddies, over a bed 
of rocks, through the midst of the woods, reflects here and 
there upon its limpid waters their venerable masses of 
verdure and of shade, along with the sports of their happy 
inhabitants. About a thousand paces from thence it forms 
several cascades, clear as crystal in their fall, but broken at 
the bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable confused sounds 
issued from these watery tumults, which, borne by the winds 
across the forest, now sink in distance, now all at once swell 
out, booming on the ear like the bells of a cathedral. The 
air, kept ever in motion by the running water, preserves upon 
the banks of the river, amid all the summer heats, a freshness 
and verdure rarely found in this island, even on the summits 
of the mountains. 

At some distance from this place is a rock, placed far 
enough from the cascade to prevent the ear from being deaf- 
ened with the noise of its waters, and sufficiently near for the 
enjoyment of seeing it, of feeling its coolness, and hearing 
its gentle murmurs. Thither, amidst the heats of summer, 
Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul and myself, 
sometimes repaired, to dine beneath the shadow of this rock. 
Virginia, who always, in her most ordinary actions, was mind- 
ful of the good of others, never eat of any fruit in the fields 
without planting the seed or kernal in the ground. “ From 
this,” said she, “ trees will come, which will yield their fruit 
to some traveller, or at least to some bird.” One day, having 
eaten of the papaw fruit from the foot of this rock, she planted 
the seeds on the spot. Soon after, several papaw trees sprang 
up, among which was one with female blossoms, that is to say, 
a fruit-bearing tree. This tree, at the time of Virginia’s 
departure, was scarcely as high as her knee ; but, as it is a 
plant of rapid growth, in the course of two years it had gained 
the height of twenty feet, and the upper part of its stem was 
encircled by several rows of ripe fruit. Paul, w r andering 
accidentally to the spot, was struck with delight at seeing this 
lofty tree, which had been planted by his beloved ; but the 
emotion was transient, and instantly gave place to a deep 
melancholy, at this evidence of her long absence. The 
objects which are habitually before us do not bring to our 
minds an adequate idea of the rapidity of life ; they decline 
insensibly with ourselves : but it is those we behold again, 
after having for some years lost sight of them, that most pow- 
erfully impress us whh a feeling of the swiftness with which 


PAUL AND J VP GIN/A. 


77 


the tide of life flows on. Paul was no less overwhelmed and 
affected at the sight of this great papaw tree, loaded with fruit, 
than is the traveller when, after a long absence from his own 
country, he finds his contemporaries no more, but their child- 
ren, whom he left at the breast, themselves now become 
fathers of families. Paul sometimes thought of cutting down 
the tree, which recalled too sensibly the distracting remem- 
brance of Virginia’s prolonged absence. At other times, con- 
templating it as a monument of her benevolence, he kissed its 
trunk, and apostrophised it in terms of the most passionate-^ 
regret. Indeed, I have myself gazed upon it with more emo- 
tion and more veneration than upon the triumphal arches at 
Rome. May nature, which every day destroys the monuments 
of kingly ambition, multiply in our forests those which testify 
the beneficence of a poor young girl ! 

At the foot of this papaw tree I was always sure to meet 
with Paul when he came into our neighborhood. One day I 
found him there absorbed in melancholy, and a conversation 
took place between us, which I will relate to you, if I do not 
weary you too much by my long digressions ; they are 
perhaps pardonable to my age and to my last friendships. I 
will relate it to you in the form of a dialogue, that you may 
form some idea of the natural good sense of this young man. 
You will easily distinguish the speakers, from the character 
of his questions and of my answers. 

Paul . — I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour has 
now been gone two years and eight months, and we have 
heard no tidings of her for eight months and a half. She 
is rich, and I am poor ; she has forgotten me. I have a great 
mind to follow her. I will go to France ; I will serve the 
king ; I will make my fortune ; and then Mademoiselle de la 
Tour’s aunt will bestow her niece upon me when I shall have 
become a great lord. 

The Old Mail. — But, my dear friend, have not you told me 
that you were not of noble birth? 

Paul . — My mother has told me so ; but, as for myself, I 
know not what noble birth means. I never perceived that I 
had less than others, or that others had more than I. 

The Old Man . — Obscure birth, in France, shuts every door 
of access to great employments ; nor can you even be received 
among any distinguished body of men, if you labor under 
this disadvantage. 

Paul . — You have often told me that it was one source of 
the greatness of France that her humblest subject might 


7* 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


attain the highest honors ; and you have cited to me many 
instances of celebrated men who, born in a mean condition, 
had conferred honor upon their country. It was your wish, 
then, by concealing the truth to stimulate my ardor ? 

The Old. Man. — Never, my son, would I lower it. I told 
you the truth with regard to the past ; but now, everything 
has undergone a great change. Everything in France is now 
to be obtained by interest alone ; every place and employ- 
ment is now become as it were the patrimony of a small 
number of families, or is divided among public bodies. The 
king is a sun, and the noble and great corporative bodies 
surround him like so many clouds ; it is almost impossible for 
any of his rays to reach you. Formerly, under less exclusive 
administrations, such phenomena have been seen. Then 
talents and merit showed thenfselves everywhere, as newly 
cleared lands are always loaded with abundance. But great 
kings, who can really form a just estimate of men, and 
choose them with judgment, are rare. The ordinary race of 
monarchs allow themselves to be guided by the nobles and 
•people who surround them. 

Paul . — But perhaps I shall find one of these nobles to 
protect me. 

The Old Man — To gain the protection of the great you 
must lend yourself to their ambition, and administer to their 
pleasures. You would never succeed ; for, in addition to 
your obscure birth, you have too much integrity. 

Paul . — But I will perform such courageous actions, I will 
be so faithful to my word, so exact in the performance of my 
duties, so zealous and so constant in my friendships, that I 
will render myself worthy to be adopted by some one of them. 
In the ancient histories, you have made me read, I have seen 
many examples of such adoptions. 

The Old Man. — Oh, my young friend ! among the Greeks 
and Romans, even in their decline, the nobles had some 
respect for virtue ; but out of all the immense number of men, 
sprung from the mass of the people, in France, who have 
signalized themselves in every possible manner, I do not 
recollect a single instance of one being adopted by any great 
family. If it were not for our kings, virtue, in our country, 
would be eternally condemned as plebeian. As I said before, 
the monarch, sometimes, ivhen he perceives it, renders to it 
due honor; but in the present day, the distinctions which 
should be bestowed on merit are generally to be obtained by 
money alone. 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA.. 


79 


Paul. — If I cannot find a nobleman to adopt me, I will 
seek to please some public body. I will espouse its interests 
and its opinions : I will make myself beloved by it. 

The Old Man .t— You will act then like other men ? — you 
will renounce your conscience to obtain a fortune ? 

Paul. — Oh no ! I will never lend myself to anything but 
the truth. 

The Old Man. — Instead of making yourself beloved, you 
would become an object of dislike. Besides, public bodies 
have never taken much interest in the discovery of truth. 
All opinions are nearly alike to ambitious men, provided only 
that they themselves can gain their ends. 

Paul. — How unfortunate I am ! Everything bars my pro- 
gress. I am condemned to pass my life in ignoble toil, far 
from Virginia. 

As he said this he sighed deeply. 

The Old Man. — Let God be your patron, and mankind the 
public body you would serve. Be constantly attached to them 
both. Families, corporations nations and kings have, all of 
them, their prejudices and their passions ; it is often neces- 
sary to serve them by the practice of vice ; God and mankind 
at large require only the exercise of the virtues. 

But why do you wish to be distinguished from other men ? 
It is hardly a natural sentiment, for, if all men possessed it, 
every one would be at constant strife with his neighbor. Be 
satisfied with fuelling your duty in the station in which Prov- 
idence has placed you; be grateful for your lot, which permits 
you to enjoy the blessing of a quiet conscience, and which 
does not compel you, like the great, to let your happiness rest 
on the opinion of the little, or, like the little to cringe to the 
great, in order to obtain the means of existence. You are 
now placed in a countiy and a condition in which you are not 
reduced to deceive or flatter anyone, or debase yourself, as the 
greater part of those who seek their fortune in Europe are obliged 
to do ; in which the exercise of no virtue is forbidden you ; in 
which you may be, with impunity, good, sincere, well-informed, 
patient, temperate, chaste ; indulgent to others’ faults, pious, 
and no shaft of ridicule be aimed at you to destroy your wis- 
dom, as yet only in its bud. Heaven has given you liberty, 
health, a good conscience, and friends ; kings themselves, 
whose favor you desire, are not so happy. 

Paul. — Ah ! I only want to have Virginia with me : without 
her I have nothing, — with her, I should possess all my desire. 
She alone is to me birth, glory, and fortune. But, since her 


So 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


relation will only give her to some one with a great name, I 
will study. By the aid of study and of books, learning and 
celebrity are to be attained. I will become a man of science : 
I will render my knowledge useful to the service of my 
country, without injuring any one, or owning dependence on 
any one. I will become celebrated, and my glory shall be 
achieved only by myself. 

The Old Man . — My son, talents are a gift yet more rare 
than either birth or riches, and undoubtedly they are a, greater 
good than either, since they can never be taken away from us, 
and that they obtain for us everywhere public esteem. But 
they may be said to be worth all that they cost us. .They are 
seldom acquired but by every species of privation, by the pos- 
session of exquisite sensibility, which often produces inward 
unhappiness, and which exposes us without to the malice and 
persecutions of our contemporaries. The lawyer envies not, 
in France, the glory of the soldier, nor does the soldier envy 
that of the naval officer ; but they will all oppose you, and bar 
your progress to distinction, because your assumption of 
superior ability will wound the self-love of them all. You say 
that you will do good to men ; but recollect, that he who 
makes the earth produce a single ear of corn more, renders 
them a greater service than he who writes a book. 

Paul. — Oh ! she, then, who planted this papaw tree, has 
made a more useful and more grateful present to the inhabi- 
tants of these forests than if she had given them a whole 
library. 

So saying, he threw his arms around the tree, and kissed it 
with transport. 

The Old Man . — The best of books, — that which preaches 
nothing but equality, brotherly love, charity, and peace, — the 
Gospel has served as a pretext, during many centuries, for 
Europeans to let loose all their fury. How many tyrannies, 
both public and private, are still practised in its name on the 
face of the earth ! After this, who will dare to flatter himself 
that anything he can write will be of service to his fellow-men ? 

. Remember the fate of most of the philosophers who have 
Ipreached to them wisdom. Homer, who clothed it in such 
noble verse, asked for alms all his life. Socrates, whose con- 
versation and example gave such admirable lessons to the 
Athenians, was sentenced by them to be poisoned. His sub- 
lime disciple, Plato, was delivered over to slavery by the order 
of the very prince who protected him ; and before them, 
Pythagoras, whose humanity extended even to animals, was 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


81 


burned alive by the Crotoniates, What do I say ? — many 
even of these illustrious names have descended to us disfigured 
by some traits of satire by which they became characterized, 
human ingratitude taking pleasure in thus recognizing them ; 
and if, in the crowd, the glory of some names is come down 
to us without spot or blemish, we shall find that who have 
borne them have lived far from the society of their contempo- 
raries ; like those statues which are found entire beneath the 
soil in Greece and Italy, and which, by being hidden in the 
bosom of the earth, have escaped uninjured, from the fury of 
the barbarians. 

You see, then, that to acquire the glory which a turbulent 
literary career can give you, you must not only be virtuous, 
but ready, if necessary, to sacrifice life itself. But, after all, 
do not fancy that the great in France trouble themselves about 
such glory as this. Little do they care for literary men, whose 
knowledge brings them neither honors, nor power, nor even 
admission at court. Persecution, it is true, is rarely practiced 
in this age, because it is habitually indifferent to everything 
except wealth and luxury ; but knowledge and virtue no longer 
lead to distinction, since everything in the state is to be pur- 
chased with money. Formerly, men of letters were certain of 
reward by some place in the church, the magistracy, or the 
administration ; now they are considered good for nothing but 
to write books. But this fruit of their minds, little valued by 
the world at large, is still worthy of its celestial origin. For 
these books is reserved the privilege of shedding lustre on 
obscure virtue, of consoling the unhappy, of enlightening 
nations, and of telling the truth even to kings. This is unques- 
tionably, the most august commission with which Heaven can 
honor a mortal upon this earth. Where is the author who 
would not be consoled for the- injustice or contempt of those 
who are the dispensers of the ordinary gifts of fortune, when 
he reflects that his work may pass from age to age, from 
nation to nation, opposing a barrier to error and to tyranny ; 
and that, from amidst the obscurity in which he has lived, 
there will shine forth a glory which will efface that of the 
common herd of monarchs, the monuments of whose deeds 
perish in oblivion, notwithstanding the flatterers who erect 
and magnify them ? 

Paul. — Ah ! I am only covetous of glory to bestow it on 
Virginia, and render her dear to the whole world. But can 
you, who know so much, tell me whether we shall ever be 
6 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


t>2 

married ? I should like to be a very learned man, if only for 
the sake of knowing what will come to pass. 

The Old Man. — Who would live, my son, if the future were 
revealed to him ? — when a single anticipated misfortune gives 
us so much useless uneasiness — when the foreknowledge of 
one certain calamity is enough to embitter every day that 
precedes it ! It is better not to pry too curiously, even into the 
things which surround us. Heaven, which has given us the 
power of reflection to foresee our necessities, gave us also 
those very necessities to set limits to its exercise. 

Paul. — You tell me that with money people in Europe 
acquire dignities and honors. I will go, then, to enrich myself 
in Bengal, and afterwards proceed to Paris, and marry 
Virginia. I will embark at once. 

The Old man. — What! would you leave her mother and 
yours ? 

Paul. — Why, you yourself have advised my going to the 
Indies. 

The Old Alan. — Virginia was then here ; but you are now 
the only means of support both of her mother and of your 
own. 

Paul. — Virginia will assist them by means of her rich rela- 
tion. 

The Old Man. — The rich care little for those, from whom 
no honor is reflected upon themselves in the world. Many of 
them have relations much more to be pitied than Madame de 
la Tour, who, for want of their assistance, sacrifice their 
liberty for bread, and pass their lives immured within the 
walls of a convent. 

Paul. — Oh, what a country is Europe ! Virginia must come 
back here. What need has she of a rich relation ? She was 
so happy in these huts ; she looked so beautiful and so well- 
dressed with a red handkerchief or a few flowers around her 
head ! Return, Virginia ! leave your sumptuous mansions and 
your grandeur, and come back to these rocks, — to the shade 
of these woods and of our coacoa trees. Alas ! you are 
perhaps even now unhappy ! ” — and he began to shed tears. 
“ My father,” continued he, “ hide nothing from me ; if you 
cannot tell me whether I shall marry Virginia, tell me at least 
if she loves me still, surrounded as she is by noblemen who 
speak to the king, and who go to see her. 

The Old Man. — Oh, my dear friend ! I am sure for many 
reasons, that she loves you : but above all, because she is vir- 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . S3 

tuous. At these words he threw himself on my neck in a 
transport of joy. 

Paul. — But do you think that the women of Europe are 
false, as they are represented in the comedies and books which 
you have lent me ? 

The Old Man . — Women are false in those countries where 
men are tyrants. Violence always engenders a disposition to 
deceive. 

Paul. — In what way can men tyrannize over women ? 

The Old Man. — In giving them in marriage without con- 
sulting their inclinations ; — in, uniting a young girl to an old 
man, or a woman of sensibility to a frigid and indifferent 
husband. 

Paul. — Why not join together those who are suited to 
each other, — the young to the young, and lovers to those they 
love ? 

The Old Man. — Because few young men in France have 
property enough to support them when they are married, and 
cannot acquire it till the greater part of their life is passed. 
While young, they seduce the wives of others, and when they 
are old, they cannot secure the affections of their own. At 
first, they themselves are deceivers : and afterwards, they are 
deceived in their turn. This is one of the reactions of that 
eternal justice, by which the world is governed'; an excess on 
one side is sure to be balanced by one on the other. Thus, 
the greater part of Europeans pass their lives in this twofold 
irregularity, which increases everywhere in the same propor- 
tion that wealth is accumulated in the hands of a few indi- 
viduals. Society is like a garden, where shrubs cannot growV 
if they are overshadowed by lofty trees ; but there is this, \ 
wide difference between them, — that the beauty of a garden I 
may result from the admixture of a small number of forest/ 
trees, while the prosperity of a state depends on the multitude| 
and equality of its citizens, and not on a small number of 1 
very rich men. 

Paul.-^- But where is the necessity of being rich in order to 
marry ? 

The Old Man. — In order to pass through life in abundance, 
without being obliged to work. 

Paul. — But why not work? I am sure I work hard 
enough. 

The Old Man. — In Europe, working with your hands is con- 
sidered a degradation ; it is compared to the labor performed 
by a machine. The occupation of cultivating the earth is the 


s 4 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


most despised of all. Even an artisan is held in more esti- 
mation than a peasant. 

Paul. — What ! do you mean to say that the art which fur- 
nishes food for mankind is despised in Europe ? I hardly 
understand you. 

The Old Man. — Oh ! it is impossible for persons educated 
according to nature to form an idea of the depraved state of 
society. It is easy to form a precise notion of order, but 
not of disorder. Beauty, virtue, happiness, have all their 
defined proportions ; deformity, vice and misery have none. 

Paul. — The rich then are always very happy ! They meet 
with no obstacles to the fulfillment of their wishes, and they 
can lavish happiness on those whom they love. 

The Old Man. — Far from it, my son ! They are, for the 
most part satiated with pleasure, for this very reason, — that it 
costs them no trouble. Have you never yourself experienced 
how much the pleasure of repose is increased by fatigue ; 
that of eating, by hunger ; or that of drinking, by thirst ? 
The pleasure also of loving and being beloved is only to be 
acquired by innumerable privations and sacrifices. Wealth, 
by anticipating all their necessities, deprives its possessors of all 
these pleasures. To this ennui, consequent upon satiety, may 
also be added the pride which springs from their opulence, 
and which is wounded by the most trilling privation, when the 
greatest enjoyments have ceased to charm. The perfume of 
a thousand roses gives pleasure but for a moment ; but the 
pain occasioned by a single thorn endures long after the in- 
fliction of the wound. A single evil in the midst of their 
pleasures is to the rich like a thorn among flowers ; to the 
poor, on the contrary, one pleasure amidst all their troubles 
is a flower among a wilderness of thorns ; they have a most 
lively enjoyment of it. The effect of everything is increased 
by contrast; nature has balanced all things. Which condi- 
tion, after all, do you consider preferable, — to have scarcely 
anything to hope, and everything to fear, or to have every- 
thing to hope and nothing to fear ? The former condition is 
that of the rich, the latter, that of the poor. But either of 
these extremes is with difficulty supported by man, whose 
happiness consists in a middle station of life, in union with 
virtue. 

Paul. — What do you understand by virtue ? 

The Old Man, — To you, my son, who support your family 
by your labor, it need hardly be defined. Virtue consists in 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 85 

endeavorinng to do all the good we can to others, with a ulti- 
mate intention of pleasing God alone. 

Paul- — Oh ! how virtuous, then, is Virginia ! Virtue led 
her to seek for riches, that she might practice benevolence. 
Virtue induced her to quit this island, and virtue will bring 
her back to it. 

The idea of her speedy return firing the imagination of this 
yoyng man, all his anxieties suddenly vanished. Virginia, he 
was persuaded, had not written, because she would soon arrive. 

It took so little time to come from Europe with a fair 
wind ! Then he enumerated the vessels which had made this 
passage of four thousand five hundred leagues in less than 
three months ; and perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had 
embarked might not be more than two. Shipbuilders were 
now so ingenious, and sailors were so expert ! He then talked 
to me of the arrangements he intended to make for her recep- 
tion, of the new house he would build for her, and of the 
pleasures and surprises which he would contrive for her every 
day, when she was his wife. His wife ! The idea filled him 
with ecstasy. “ At least, my dear father, ” said he, “you shall 
then do no more work than you please. As Virginia will be 
rich, we shall have plenty of negroes, and they shall work for 
you. You shall always live with us, and have no other care 
than to amuse yourself and be happy ; ” — and, . his heart 
throbbing with joy, he flew to communicate these exquisite 
anticipations to his family. 

In a short time, however, these enchanting hopes were suc- 
ceeded by the most cruel apprehensions. It is always the 
effect of violent passions to throw the soul into opposite 
extremes. Paul returned the next day to my dwelling, over- 
whelmed with melancholy, and said to me, — “ I hear nothing 
from Virginia. Had she left Europe she would have written 
me word of her departure. Ah ! the reports which I have 
heard concerning her are but too well founded. Her aunt has 
married her to some great lord. She, like others, has been 
undone by the love of riches. In those books which paint 
women so well, virtue is treated but as a subject of romance. 
If Virginia had been virtuous, she would never have forsaken 
her mother and me. I do nothing but think of her, and she 
has forgotten me. I am wretched, and she is diverting herself. 
The thought distracts me ; I caqnot bear myself ! Would to 
Heaven that war were declared in India ! I would go there 
and die.” 

“ My son, ” I answered, “ that courage which prompts us on 


86 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


to court death is but the courage of a moment, and is often 
j excited only by the vain applause of men, or by the hope of 
\ posthumous renown. There is another description of courage, 
rarer and more necessary, which enables us to support, without 
I witness and without applause, the vexations of life ;• this virtue 
is patience. Relying for support, not upon the opinions of 
t others, or the impulse of the passions, but upon the will of God, 
patience is the courage of virtue.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried he. “ I am then without virtue ! Everything 
overwhelms me and drives me to despair.” — “ Equal, constant, 
and invariable virtue,” I replied, “ belongs not to man. In 
the midst of the many passions which agitate us, our reason 
is disordered and obscure : but there is an ever-burning lamp, 
at which we can rekindle its flame ; and that is, literature. 

“ Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heaven, a ray of 
that wisdom by which the universe is governed, and which 
man, inspired by a celestial intelligence,. has drawn down to 
earth. Like the rays of the sun, it enlightens us, it rejoices 
us, it warms us with a heavenly flame, and seems, in some 
sort, like the element of fire, to bend all nature to our use. 
By its means we are enabled to bring around us all things, all 
places, all men, and all times. It assists us to regulate our 
manners and our life. By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, 
vice is suppressed, and virtue encouraged by the memorable 
examples of great and good men which it has handed down 
to us, and whose time-honored images it ever brings before 
our eyes. Literature is a daughter of Heaven who has 
decended upon earth to soften and to charm away all the evils 
of the human race. The greatest writers have ever appeared 
in the worst times, — in times in which society can hardly be 
held together, — the times of barbarism and every species of 
depravity. My son, literature has consoled an infinite number 
of men more unhappy than yourself : Xenophon, banished 
from his country after having saved to her ten thousand of her 
sons ; Scipio Africanus, wearied to death by the calumnies of 
. the Romans : Lucullus, tormented by their cabals ; and Catinat, 
{ by the ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with their never- 
\ failing ingenuity, assigned to each of the Muses a portion of 
\ the great circle of human intelligence for her especial superin- 
ftendence ; we ought in the same manner, to give up to them 
/ the regulation of our passions, to bring them under proper 
/ restraint. Literature in this imaginative guise, would thus 
fulfil, in relation to the powers of Sre soul, the same functions 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 87 

as the Hours, who yoked and conducted the chariot of the 
Sun. 

“ Have recourse to your books, then, my son. The wise 
men who have written before our days are travellers who 
have preceded us in the paths of misfortune, and who stretchout 
a friendly hand toward us, and invite us to join their society, 
when we are abandoned by everything else. A good book is 
a good friend.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Paul, “ I stood in no need of books when 
Virginia was here, and she had studied as little as myself; but 
when she looked at me, and called me her friend, I could not 
feel unhappy.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said I, “ there is no friend so agreeable as 
a mistress by whom we are beloved. There is moreover, in 
woman a liveliness and gayety, which powerfully tend to dissi- 
pate the melancholy feelings of a man ; her presence drives 
away the dark phantoms of imagination produced by over- 
reflection. Upon her countenance sit soft attractions and ten- 
der confidence. What joy is not heightened when it is shared 
by her ? What brow is not unbent by her smiles ? What anger 
can resist her tears ? Virginia will return with more philosophy 
than you, and will be quite surprised to find the garden so un- 
finished ; — she who could think of its embellishments in spite 
of all the persecutions of her aunt, and when far from her 
mother and from you.” 

The idea of Virginia’s speedy return reanimated the droop- 
ing spirits of her lover, and he resumed his rural occupations, 
happy amidst his toils, in the reflection that they would soon 
find a termination so dear to the wishes of his heart. 

One morning, at break of day, (it was the 24th of Decem- 
ber, 1744), Paul, when he arose, perceive a white flag hoisted 
upon the Mountain of Discovery. This flag he knew to be the 
signal of a vessel descried at sea. He instantly flew to the 
town to learn if this vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and 
waited there till the return of the pilot, who was gone, accord- 
ing to custom, to board the ship. The pilot did not return till 
the evening, when he brought the governor information that 
the signalled vessel was the Saint-Geran, of seven hundred 
tons burden, and commanded by a captain of the name of 
Aubin ; that she was now four leagues out at sea, but would 
probably anchor at Port Louis the following afternoon, if the 
wind became fair : at present there was a calm. The pilot then 
handed to the governor a number of letters which the Saint- 
Geran had brought from France, among which was one ad- 


88 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


dressed to Madame de la Tour, in the handwriting of Virginia. 
Paul seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, and plac- 
ing it in his bosom, flew to the plantation. No sooner, did he 
perceive from a distance the family, who were awaiting his 
return, upon the rock of Adieus, than he waved the letter aloft 
in the air, without being able to utter a word. No sooner was 
the seal broken, than they all crowded round Madame de la 
Tour, to hear the letter read. Virginia informed her mother 
that she had experienced much ill-usage from her aunt, who, 
after having in vain urged her to a marriage against her in- 
clination, had disinherited her, and had sent her back at a 
time when she would probably reach the Mauritius during the 
hurricane season. In vain, she added, had she endeavored to 
soften her aunt, by representing what she owed to her mother, 
and to her early habits ; she was treated as a romantic girl, 
whose head hacf been turned by novels. She could now only 
think of the joy of again seeing and embracing her beloved 
family, and would have gratified her ardent desire at once, by 
landing in the pilot’s boat, if the captain had allowed her : but 
that he had objected, on account of the distance, and of a 
heavy swell, which, notwithstanding the calm, reigned in the 
open sea. 

As soon as the letter was finished, the whole of the family, 
transported with joy, repeatedly exclaimed, “ Virginia is ar- 
rived ! ” and mistresses and servants embraced each other. 
Madame de la Tour said to Paul, — “ My son, go and inform 
our neighbor of Virginia’s arrival.” Domingo immediately 
lighted a torch of bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent their 
way towards my dwelling. 

It was about ten o’clock at night, and I was just going to 
extinguish my lamp, and retire to rest, when I perceived, 
through the palisades round my cottage, a light in the woods. 
Soon after, I heard the voice of Paul calling me. I instantly 
arose, and ha'd hardly dressed myself, when Paul, almost beside 
himself, and panting for breath, sprang on my neck, crying, — 
“Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived. Let us go to 
the port ; the vessel will anchor at break of day.” 

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we set off. As 
we were passing through the woods of the Sloping Mountain, 
and were already on the road which leads from the Shaddock 
Grove to the port, I heard some one walking behind us. It 
proved to be a negro, and he was advancing with hasty steps. 
When he had reached us, I asked him whence he came, and 
whither he was going with such expedition. He answered, “I 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 


89 

come from that part of the island called Golden Dust ; and am 
sent to the port, to inform the governor that a ship from France 
has anchored under the Isle of Amber. She is firing guns of 
distress, for the sea is very rough.” Having said this, the 
man left us, and pursued his journey without any further de- 
lay. 

I then said to Paul, — “ Let us go towards the quarter of the 
Golden Dust, and meet Virginia there. It is not more than 
three leagues from hence.” We accordingly bent our course 
towards the northern part of the island. The heat was 
suffocating. The moon had risen, and was surrounded by 
three large black circles. A frightful darkness shrouded the 
sky ; but the frequent flashes of lightning discovered to us 
long rows of thick and gloomy clouds, hanging very low, and 
heaped together over the centre of the island, being driven in 
with great rapidity from the ocean, although not a breath of 
air was perceptible upon the land. As we walked along, we 
thought we heard peals of thunder ; but, on listening more 
attentively, we perceived that it was the sound of cannon at a 
distance, repeated by the echoes. These ominous sounds, 
joined to the tempestuous aspect of the heavens, made me 
shudder. I had little doubt of their being signals of distress 
from a ship in danger. In about half an hour the firing 
ceased, and I found the silence still more appalling than the 
dismal sounds which had preceded it. 

We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to com- 
municate to each other our mutual apprehensions. At mid- 
night, by great exertion, we arrived at the sea-shore, in that 
part of the island called Golden Dust. The billows were 
breaking against the beach with a horrible noise, covering the 
rocks and the strand with foam of a dazzling whiteness, blend- 
ed with sparks of fire. By these phosphoric gleams we distin- 
guished, notwithstanding the darkness, a number of fishing- 
canoes, drawn up high upon the beach. 

At the entrance of a wood, a short distance from us, we 
saw a fire, round which a party of the inhabitants were 
assembled. We repaired thither, in order to rest ourselves till 
the morning. While we were seated near this fire, one of the 
standers : by related, that late in the afternoon he had seen a 
vessel in the open sea, driven towards the island by the cur- 
rents ; that the night had hidden it from his view ; and that 
two hours after sunset he had heard the firing of signal guns 
of distress, but that the surf was so high, that it was impossible 
to launch a boat to go off to her ; that a short time after, he 


90 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


thought he perceived the glimmering of the watch-lights on 
board the vessel, which, he feared, by its having approached so 
near the coast, had steered between the main land and the 
little island of Amber, mistaking the latter for the Point cf 
Endeavor, near which vessels pass in order to gain Port Louis ; 
and that, if this were the case, which, however, he would not 
take upon himself to be certain of, the ship, he thought, was 
in very great danger. Another islander then informed us, 
that he had frequently crossed the channel which separates 
the isle of Amber from the coast, and had sounded it ; that 
the anchorage was very good, and that the ship would there 
lie as safely as in the best harbor. “ I would stake all I’m worth 
upon it,” said he, “ and if I were on board, I should sleep as 
sound as on shore.” A third bystander declared that it was 
impossible for the ship to enter that channel, which was 
scarcely navigable for a boat. He was certain, he said, that 
he had seen the vessel at anchor beyond the isle of Amber; 
so that, if the wind arose in the morning, she could either put 
to sea, or gain the harbor. Other inhabitants gave different 
opinions upon this subject, which they continued to discuss in 
the usual desultory manner of the indolent Creoles. Paul 
and I observed a profound silence. We remained on this 
spot till break of day, but the weather was to hazy to admit of 
our distinguishing any object at sea, everything being covered 
with fog. All we could descry to seaward was a dark cloud, 
which they told us was the isle of Amber, at the distance of a 
quarter of a league from the coast. On this gloomy day we 
could only discern the point of land on which we were stand- 
ing, and the peaks of some inland mountains, which started 
out occasionally -from the midst of the clouds that hung 
around them. 

At about seven in the morning we heard the sound of 
drums in the woods : it announced the approach of the 
governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, who soon after arrived 
on horseback, at the head of a detachment of soldiers armed 
with muskets, and a crowd of islanders and negroes. - He 
drew up his soldiers upon the beach, and ordered them to 
make a general discharge. This was no sooner done, than we 
perceived a glimmering light upon the water which was 
instantly followed by the report of a cannon. We judged that 
the ship was at no great distance and all ran towards that 
part whence the light and sound proceeded. We now discern- 
ed through the fog the hull and yards of a large vessel. We were 
so near to her, that notwithstanding the tumult of the waves, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


9i 


we could distinctly hear the whistle of the boatswain, and the 
shouts of the sailors, who cried out three times, Vive le roi ! 
this being the cry of the French in extreme danger, as well as 
in exuberant joy ; — as though they wished to call their prince 
to their aid, or to testify to him that they are prepared to lay 
down their lives in his service. 

As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived that we were near 
enough to render her assistance, she continued to fire guns 
regularly at intervals of three minutes. Monsieur de la Bour- 
donnais caused great fires to be lighted at certain distances 
upon the strand, and sent to all the inhabitants of the neigh- 
borhood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, and empty 
barrels. A number of people soon arrived, accompanied by 
their negroes loaded with provisions and cordage, which they 
had brought from the plantations of Golden Dust, from the* 
district of La Flaque, and from the river of the Rampart. 

One of the most aged of these planters, approaching the 
governor, said to him. — “ We have heard all night hollow 
noises in the mountain ; in the woods, the leaves of the trees 
are shaken, although there is no wind ; the sea-birds seek 
refuge upon the land ; it is certain that all these signs 
announce a hurricane.” “ Well, my friends,” answered the 
governor, “we are prepared for it, and no doubt the vessel' 
is also.” 

Everything, indeed, presaged the near approach of the 
hurricane. The centre of the clouds in the zenith was of a 
dismal black, while their skirts were tinged with a copper- 
colored hue. The air resounded with the cries of the tropic- 
birds, petrels, frigate-birds, and innumerable other sea-fowl, 
which notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere, were 
seen coming from every point of the horizon, to seek, for 
shelter in the island. 

Towards nine in the morning we heard in the direction of 
the ocean'the most terrific .noise, like the sound of thunder 
mingled with that of torrents rushing down the steeps of lofty 
mountains. A general cry was heard of, “ There is the hurri- 
cane ! ” and the next moment a frightful gust of wind dis- 
pelled the fog which covered the isle of Amber and its chan- 
nel. The Saint-Geran then presented herself to our view, 
her deck crowded with people, her yards and topmasts low- 
ered down, and her flag half-mast high, moored by four 
cables at her bow and one at her stern. She had anchored 
between the isle of Amber and the main land, inside the 
chain of reefs which encircles the island, and which she had 


92 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


passed through in a place where no vessel had ever passed 
before. She presented her head to the waves that rolled in 
from the open sea, and as each billow rushed into the narrow 
strait where she lay, her bow lifted to such a degree as to 
show her keel ; and at the same moment her stern, plunging 
into the water, disappeard altogether from our sight, as if it 
were swallowed up by the surges. In this position, driven by 
the winds and waves towards the shore, it was equally impos- 
sible for her to return by the passage through which she 
had made her way ; or, by cutting her cables, to strand her- 
self upon the beach, from which she wa£ separated by sand- 
banks and reefs of rocks. Every billow which broke upon 
the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, throw- 
ing up heaps of shingles to the distance of fifty feet upon the 
land ; then, rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, from 
which it rolled immense stones, with a hoarse and dismal 
noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the wind, rose 
higher every moment ; and the whole channel between this 
island and the isle of Amber was soon one vast sheet of 
white foam, full of yawning pits of black and deep billows. 

Heaps of this foam, more than six feet high, were piled up 
at the bottom of the bay ; and the winds which swept its 
surface carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, scatter- 
ing it upon the land to the distance of half a league. These 
innumerable white flakes, driven horizontally even to the very 
foot of the mountains, looked like snow issuing from the 
bosom of the ocean. The appearance of the horizon porten- 
ded a lasting tempest : the sky and the water seemed blended 
together. Thick masses of clouds, of a frightful form, 
swept across the zenith with the swiftness of birds, while 
others appeared motionless as rocks. Not a single spot of 
blue sky 6ould be discerned in the whole firmament •, and a 
pale yellow gleam only lighted up all the objects of the earth, 
the sea, and the skies. 

From the violent rolling of the ship, what we all dreaded 
happened at last. The cables which held her bow were torn 
away ; she then swung to a single hawser, and was instantly 
dashed upon the rocks, at a distance of half a cable’s length 
from the shore. A general cry of horror issued from the 
spectators. Paul rushed forward to throw himself into the 
sea, when, seizing him by the arm, “ My son,” I exclaimed, 
“ would you perish ? ” — “ Let me go to save her,” he cried, 
“ or let me die ! ” Seeing that despair had deprived him of 
reason, Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, fastened 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


93 


a long cord around his waist, and held it fast by the end. 
Paul then precipitated himself towards the Saint-Geran, now 
swimming, and now walking upon the rocks. Sometimes he 
had hopes of reaching the vessel, which the sea, by the reflux 
of its waves, had left almost dry, so that you could have 
walked round it on foot ; but suddenly the billows, returning 
with fresh fuiy, shrouded it beneath mountains of water, 
which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The breakers at 
the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far upon the 
beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and 
himself half dead. The moment he had recovered the use of 
his senses, he arose, and returned with new ardor towards 
the vessel, the parts of which now yawned asunder from the 
violent strokes of the billows. The crew then, despairing of 
their safety, threw themselves in crowds into the sea, upon 
yards, planks, hen-coops, tables, aud barrels. At this mo- 
ment we beheld an object which wrung our hearts with grief 
and pity ; a young lady appeared in the stern-gallery of the 
Saint-Geran, stretching out her arms towards him who was 
making so many efforts to join her. It was Virginia. She 
had discovered her lover by his intrepidity. The sight of 
this amiable girl, exposed to such horrible danger, filled 
us with unutterable despair. As for Virginia, with a firm 
and dignified mien, she waved her hand, as if bidding us an 
eternal farewell. All the sailors had flung themselves into 
the sea, except one, who still remained upon the deck, and 
who was naked, and strong as Hercules. This man 
approached Virginia with respect, and kneeling at her feet, 
attempted to force her to throw off her clothes ; but she 
repulsed him with modesty, and turned away her head. 

Then were heard redoubled cries from the spectators, 
“ Save her ! — save her ! — do not leave her ! ” But at that 
moment a mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed 
itself between the isle of Amber and the coast, and menaced 
the shattered vessel, towards which it rolled bellowing, with its 
black sides and foaming head. At this terrible sight the 
sailor flung himself into the sea ; and Virginia, seeing death 
inevitable, crossed her hands upon her breast, and raising 
upwards her serene and beauteous eyes, seemed an angel 
prepared to take flight to Heaven. 

Oh, day of horror ! Alas everything was swallowed up by 
the relentless billows. The surge threw some of the specta- 
tors, whom an impulse of humanity had prompted to advance 
towards Virginia, far upon the beach, and also the sailor who 


94 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


had endeavored to save her life. This man, who had escaped 
from almost certain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, — 
“ Oh, my God ! thou hast saved my life, but I would have 
given it willingly for that excellent young lady, who had perse- 
vered in not undressing herself as I had done.” Domingo 
and I drew the unfortunate Paul to the shore. He was sense- 
less, and blood was flowing from his mouth and ears. The 
-governor ordered him to be put into the hands of a surgeon, 
while we, on our part, wandered along the beach, in hopes 
that the sea would throw up the corpse of Virginia. But the 
wind having suddenly changed, as it frequently happens 
during hurricanes, our search was in vain : and we had the 
grief of thinking that we should not be able to bestow on this 
sweet and unfortunate girl the last sad duties. We retired 
from the spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our minds 
wholly occupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had 
perished in the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed 
tempted, from the fatal destiny of this virtuous girl, to doubt 
the existence of Providence : for there are in life such terrible, 
such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the wise is 
sometimes shaken. 

In the mean time Paul, who began to recover his senses, 
was taken to a house in the neighborhood, till he was in a fit 
state to be removed to his own home. Thither I bent my way 
with Domingo to discharge the melancholy duty of preparing 
Virginia’s mother and her friend for the disastrous event 
which had happened. When we had reached the entrance of 
the valley of the river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed 
us that the sea had thrown up many pieces of the wreck in 
the opposite bay. We descended towards it and one of the 
first objects that struck my sight upon the beach was the 
corpse of Virginia. The body was half covered with sand, 
and preserved the attitude in which we had seen her perish. 
Her features were not sensibly changed, her eyes were closed, 
and her countenance was still serene ; but the pale purple 
hues of death were blended on her cheek with the blush of 
virgin modesty. One of her hands was placed upon her 
clothes ; and the other, which she held on her heart, was fast 
closed, and so stiffened, that it was with difficulty that I took 
from its grasp a small box. How great was my emotion 
when I saw that it contained the picture of Paul, which she 
had promised him never to part with while she lived ! At the 
sight of this last mark of the fidelity and tenderness of the 
unfortunate girl, I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


95 


his breast, and pierced the air with his shrieks. With heavy- 
hearts we then carried the body of Virginia to a fisherman’s 
hut, and gave it in charge of some poor "Malabar women, who 
carefully washed oway the sand. 

While they were employed in this melancholy office, we 
ascended the hill with trembling steps to the plantation. We 
found Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer ; hourly 
expecting to have tidings from the ship. As soon as Madame 
de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly cried, — “ Where is my 
daughter — my dear daughter, — my child ? ” My silence and 
my tears apprised her of her misfortune. She was instantly 
seized with convulsive stopping of the breath and agonizing 
pains, and her voice was only heard in signs and groans. 
Margaret cried, “ Where is my son ? I do not see my son ! ” 
and fainted. We ran to her assistance. In a short time she 
recovered, and being assured that Paul was safe, and under 
the care of the governor, she thought of nothing but of suc- 
coring her friend, who recovered from one fainting fit only to 
fall into another. Madame de la Tour passed the whole 
night in these cruel sufferings, and I became convinced that 
there was no sorrow like that of a mother. When she recov- 
ered her senses, she cast a fixed, unconscious look towards 
heaven. In vain her friend and myself pressed her hands in 
ours ; in vain we called upon her by the most tender names ; 
she appeared wholly insensible to these testimonials of our 
affection, and no sound issued from her oppressed bosom, 
but deep and hollow moans. 

During the morning Paul was carried home in a palanquin. 
He had now recovered the use of his reason, but was unable 
to utter a word. His interview with his mother and Madame 
de la Tour, which I had dreaded, produced a better effect than 
all my cares. A ray of consolation gleamed on the counte- 
nance of the two unfortunate mothers. They pressed dose 
to him, clasped him in their arms, and kissed him : their tears, 
which excess of anguish had till now dried up at the source, 
began to flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs ; and nature 
having thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the convul- 
sive pangs they had suffered, and afforded them a lethargic 
repose, which was in truth, like that of death. 

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprize me secretly _ 
that the corpse of Virginia had been borne to the town by his 
order, from whence it was to be transferred to the church of 
the Shaddock Grove. I immediately went down to Port 
Louis, where I found a multitude assembled from all parts of 


9 6 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


the island, in order to be present at the funeral solemnity, as 
if the isle had lost that which was nearest and dearest to it. 
The vessels in the harbor had their yards crossed, their flags 
half-mast, and fired guns at long intervals. A body of gren- 
adiers led the funeral procession, with their muskets reversed, 
their muffled drums sending forth slow and dismal sounds. 
Dejection was depicted in the countenance of these warriors, 
who had so often braved death in- battle without changing 
color. Eight young ladies of considerable families of the 
island, dressed in white, and bearing palm-branches in their 
hands, carried the corpse of their amiable companion, which 
was covered with flowers. They were followed by a chorus 
of children, chanting hymns, and by the governor, his field 
officer, all the principal inhabitants of the island, and an im- 
mense crowd of people. 

This imposing funeral solemnity had been ordered by the 
administration of the country, which w$s desirous of doing 
honor to the virtues of Virginia. But when the mournful 
procession arrived at the foot of this mountain, within sight of 
those cottages of which she had been so long an inmate and 
an ornament, diffusing happiness all around them, and which 
her loss had now filled with despair, the funeral pomp was in- 
terrupted, the hymns and anthems ceased, and the whole plain 
resounded with sighs and lamentations. Numbers of yoting 
girls ran from the neighboring plantations, to touch the coffin 
of Virginia with their handkerchiefs, and with chaplets and 
crowns of flowers, invoking her as a saint. Mothers asked 
of heaven a child like Virginia; lovers, a heart as. faithful ; 
the poor, as tender a friend ; and the slaves as kind a mistress. 

When the procession had reached the place of interment, 
some negresses of Madagascar and Caffres of Mozambique 
placed a number of baskets of fruit around the corpse, and 
hung pieces of stuff upon the adjoining trees, according to 
the custom of their several countries. Some Indian woman 
from Bengal also, and from the coast of Malabar, brought 
cages full of small birds, which they set at liberty upon her 
coffin. Thus deeply did the loss of this amiable being affect 
the natives of different countries, and thus was the ritual of 
various religions performed over the tomb of unfortunate 
virtue. 

It became necessary to place guards round her grave, and 
to employ gentle force in removing some of the daughters of 
the neighboring villagers, who endeavored to throw themselvs 
into it, saying that they had no longer any consolation to hope 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


97 


for in this world, and that nothing remained for them but to 
die with their benefactress. 

On the western side of the church of the Shaddock Grove 
is a small copse. of bamboos, where, in returning from mass 
with her mother and Margaret, Virginia loved to rest herself, 
seated by the side of him whom she then called brother. 
This was the spot selected for her interment. 

At his return from the funeral solemnity, Monsieur de la 
Bourdonnais came up here, followed by part of his numerous 
retinue. He offered Madame de la Tour and her friend all 
the assistance it was in his power to bestow. After briefly 
expressing his indignation at the conduct of her unnatural 
aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said everything which he 
thought most likely to soothe and console him. “ Heaven is 
my witness,” said he, “ that I wished to insure your happiness, 
and that of your family. My dear friend, you must go to 
France ; I will obtain a commission for you, and during your 
absence I will take the same care of your mother as if she 
were my own.” He then offered him his hand ; but Paul 
drew away and turned his head aside, unable to bear his sight. 

I remained for some time at the plantation of my unfortu- 
nate friends, that I might render to them and Paul those 
offices of friendship that were in my power, and which might 
alleviate, though they could not heal the wounds of calamity. 
At the end of three weeks Paul was able to walk ; but his 
mind seemed to droop in proportion as his body gathered 
strength. He was insensible to everything ; his look was va- 
cant ; and when asked a question, he made no reply. Ma- 
dame de la Tour, who was dying, said to him often, — “ My son, 
while I look at you, I think I see my dear Virginia.” At the 
name of Virginia he shuddered, and hastened away from her, 
notwithstanding the entreaties of his mother, who begged him 
to come back to her friend. He used to go alone into the 
garden, and seat himself at the foot Virginia’s cocoa-tree, 
with his eyes fixed upon the fountain. The governor’s sur- 
geon, who had shown the most humane attention to Paul and 
the whole family, told us that in order to cure the deep melan- 
choly which had taken possession of his mind, we must allow 
him to do whatever he pleased, without contradiction : this, 
he said, afforded the only chance of overcoming the silence in 
which he persevered. 

I resolved to follow this advice. The first use which Paul 
made of his returning strength was to absent himself from the 
plantation. Being determined not to lose sight of him I set 

7 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


9S 

out immediately and desired Domingo to take some pro- 
visions and accompany us. The young man’s strength and 
spirits seemed renewed as he descended the mountain. He 
first took the road to the Shaddock Grove, and when he was 
near the church, in the Alley of Bamboos, he walked directly 
to the spot where he saw some earth fresh turned up ; kneel- 
ing down there, and raising his eyes to heaven, he offered 
up a long prayer. This appeared to me a favorable symptom 
of the return of his reason ; since this mark of confidence in 
the Supreme Being showed that his mind was beginning to 
resume its natural functions. Domingo and I, following his 
example, fell upon our knees, and mingled our prayers with 
his. When he arose, he bent his way, paying little attention 
to us, towards the northern part of the island. As I knew 
that he was not only ignorant of the spot where the body 
of Virginia had been deposited, but even of the fact that 
it had been recovered from the waves, I asked him why he 
had offered up his prayer at the foot of those bamboos. He 
answered, — “ We have been there so often.” 

He continued his course until we reached the borders of 
the forest, when night came on. I set him the example of 
taking some nourishment, and prevailed on him to do the 
same; and we slept upon the grass, at the foot of a tree. 
The next day I thought he seemed disposed to retrace his steps ; 
for after having gazed a considerable time from the plain 
upon the church of the Shaddock Grove, with its long avenues 
* of bamboos, he made a movement as if to return home ; 
but suddenly plunging into the forest, he directed his course 
towards the north. I guessed what was his design, and I en- 
deavored, but in vain, to dissuade him from it. About noon 
we arrived at the quarter of Golden Dust. He rushed down 
to the sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the Saint-Geran 
had been wrecked. At the sight of the isle of Amber, and 
its channel, then smooth as a mirror, he exclamed. — “ Vir- 
ginia ! oh, my dear Virginia 1 ” and fell senseless. Domingo 
and I carried him into the woods, where we had some 
difficulty in recovering him. As soon as he regained his 
senses, he wished to return to the sea-shore ; but we conjured, 
him not to renew his own anguish and ours by such cruel 
remembrances, and he took another direction. During a 
whole week he sought every spot where he had once wandered 
with the companion of his childhood. He traced the path by 
which she had gone to intercede for the slave of the Black 
River. He gazed again upon the banks of the river of the 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


99 


Three Breasts, where she had rested herself when unable to 
walk further, and upon the part of the wood where they had 
lost their way. All the haunts, which recalled to his memory 
the anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her he 
loved, — the river of the Sloping Mountain, my house, the 
neighboring cascade, the papaw tree she had planted, the 
grassy fields in which she loved to run, the openings of the 
forest where she used to sing, all in succession called forth 
his tears ; and those very echoes which had so often 
resounded with their mutual shouts of joy, now repeated 
only these accents of despair, — “Virginia! oh, my dear 
Virginia ! ” 

During this savage and wandering life, his eyes became 
sunk and hollow, his skin assumed a yellow tint, and his 
health rapidly declined. Convinced that our present suffer- 
ings are rendered more acute by the bitter recollections of 
bygone pleasures, and that the passions gather strength in 
solitude, I resolved to remove my unfortunate friend from 
those scenes which recalled the remembrance of his loss, and 
to lead him to a more busy part of the island. With this 
view, I conducted him to the inhabited part of the elevated 
quarter of Williams, which he had never visited, and where 
the busy pursuits of agriculture and commerce ever occasion- 
ed much bustle and variety. Numbers of . carpenters were 
employed in hewing down and squaring trees, while others 
were sawing them into planks ; carriages were continually 
passing and repassing on the roads ; numerous herds of oxen 
and troops of horses were feeding on those widespread mead- 
ows, and the whole country was dotted with the dwellings of 
man. On some spots the elevation of the soil permitted the 
culture of many of the plants of Europe : the yellow ears of 
ripe corn waved upon the plains ; strawberry plants grew in 
the openings o.f the woods, and the roads were bordered by 
hedges of rose-trees. The freshness of the air, too, giving 
tension to the nerves, was favorable to the health of the 
Europeans. From those heights, situated near the middle of 
the island, and surrounded by extensive forests, neither the 
sea, nor Port Louis, nor the church of the Shaddock Grove, 
nor any other object associated with the remembrance of 
Virginia could be discerned. Even the mountains, which 
present various shapes on the side of Port Louis, appear from 
hence like a long promontory, in a straight and perpendicular 
line, from which arise lofty pyramids of rock, whose summits 
are enveloped in the clouds. 


IOO 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept him continually in 
action, walking with him in rain and sunshine, by day and by 
night. I sometimes wandered with him into the depths of the 
forests, or led him over untilled grounds, hoping that change 
of scene and fatigue might divert his mind ftom its gloomy 
meditations. But the soul of a lover finds everywhere the 
traces of the beloved object. Night and day, the calm of 
solitude and the tumult of crowds, are to him the same ; time 
itself, which casts the shade of oblivion over so many other 
remembrances, in vain would tear that tender and sacred 
recollection from the heart. The needle, when touched by 
the loadstone, however it may have been moved from its posi- 
tion, is no sooner left to repose, than if returns to the pole of 
its attraction. So when I inquired of Paul, as we wandered 
amidst the plains of Williams, — “ Where shall we now go ? ” 
he pointed to the north, and said, “ Yonder are our moun- 
tains ; let us return home.” 

I now saw that all the means I took to divert him from his 
melancholy were fruitless, and that no resource was left but 
an attempt to combat his passion by the arguments which rea- 
son suggested. I answered him, — “ Yes, there are the moun- 
tains where once dwelt your beloved Virginia ; and here is the 
picture you gave her, and which she held, when dying, to her 
heart — that heart, which even in its last moments only beat 
for you.” I then presented to Paul the little portrait which 
he had given to Virginia on the borders of the cocoatree 
fountain. At this sight a gloomy joy overspread his counte- 
nance. He eagerly seized the picture with his feeble hands, 
and held it to his lips. His oppressed bosom seemed ready 
to burst with emotton, and his eyes were filled with tears 
which had no power to flow. 

“ My son,” said I, “ listen to one who is your friend, who 
was the friend of Virginia, and who, in the bloom of your 
hopes, has often endeavored to fortify your mind against the 
unforeseen accidents of life. What do you deplore with so 
much bitterness ? Is it your own misfortunes, or those of 
Virginia, which affect you so deeply ? 

“ Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. You have lost 
the most amiable of girls, who would have grown up to woman- 
hood a pattern to her sex, one who sacrificed her own interests 
to yours : who preferred you to all that fortune could bestow, 
and considered you as the only recompense worthy of her 
virtues. 

“ But might not this very object, from whom you expected 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


ioi 


the purest happiness, have proved to you a source of the most 
cruel distress ? She had returned poor and disinherited ; all 
you could henceforth have partaken with her was your labor. 
Rendered more delicate by her education, and more courage- 
ous by her misfortunes, you might have beheld her every day 
sinking beneath her efforts to share and lighten your fatigues. 
Had she brought you children, they would only have served 
to increase her anxieties and your own, from the difficulty of 
sustaining at once your aged parents and your infant family. 

“ Very likely you will tell me that the governor would have 
helped you ; but how do you know that in a colony whose 
governors are so frequently changed, you would have had 
others like Monsieur de la Bourdonnais ? — that one might 
not have been sent destitute of good feeling and of morality ? 
— that your young wife, in order to procure some miserable 
pittance, might not have been obliged to seek his favor ? 
Had she been weak you would have been to be pitied ; and 
if she had remained virtuous, you would have continued poor : 
forced even to consider yourself fortunate if, on account of 
the beauty and virtue of your wife, you had not to endure 
persecution from those who had promised you protection. 

“ It would still have remained to you, you may say, to have 
enjoyed a pleasure independent of fortune, that of protecting 
a beloved being, who, in proportion to her own helplessness, 
had more attached herself to you. You may fancy that your 
pains and sufferings would have served to endear you to each 
other, and that your passion would have gathered strength 
from vour mutual misfortunes. Undoubtedly virtuous love 
does find consolation even in such melancholy retrospects. 
But Virginia is no more ; yet those persons still live, whom, 
next to yourself, she held most dear ; her mother, and your 
own : your inconsolable affliction is bringing them both to 
the grave. Place your happiness as she did hers, in affording 
them succor. My son, beneficence is the happiness of the 
virtuous : there is no greater or more certain enjoyment on 
the earth. Schemes of pleasure, repose, luxuries, wealth, 
and glory are not suited to man, weak, wandering, and tran- 
sitory as he is. See how rapidly one step towards the acqui- 
sition of fortune has precipitated us all to the lowest abyss of 
misery ! You were opposed to it it is true ; but who would 
not have thought that Virginia’s voyage would terminate in 
her happiness and your own ? an invitation from a rich and 
aged relation, the advice of a wise governor, the approbation 
•f the whole colony, and the well-advised authority of 


1 02 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


confessor, decided the lot of Virginia. Thus do we run to 
our ruin, deceived even by the prudence of those who watch 
over us : it would be better, no doubt, not to believe them, 
nor even to listen to the voioe or lean on the hopes of a 
deceitful world. But all men, — those you see occupied in 
these plains, those who go abroad, to seek their fortunes, and 
those in Europe who enjoy repose from the labors of others, 
are liable to reverses ! not one is secure from losing, at some 
period, all that he most values, — greatness, wealth, wife, 
children, and friends. Most of these would have their 
sorrow increased by the remembrance of their own imprudence. 
But you have nothing with which you can reproach yourself. 
You have been faithful in your love. In the bloom of youth, 
by not departing from the dictates of nature, you evinced the 
wisdom of a sage. Your views were just, because they were 
pure, simple, and disinterested. You had, besides, on Virginia, 
sacred claims which nothing could countervail. You have 
lost her : but it is neither your own imprudence, nor your avarice, 
nor your false wisdom which has occasioned this misfortune, 
but the will of God, who has employed the passions of others 
to snatch from you the object of your love ; God, from whom 
you derive everything, who knows what is most fitting for you, 
and whose wisdom has not left you any cause for the repen- 
tance and despair which succeed the calamities that are 
brought upon us by ourselves. 

“ Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to yourself ‘ I 
have not deserved them.’ Is it then the calamity of Virginia 
— her death and her present condition that you deplore ? She 
has undergone the fate allotted to all,; — to high birth, to 
beauty, and even to empires themselves. The life of man, with 
all its projects, may be compared to a tower, at whose summit 
is death. When your Virginia was born, she was condemned 
to die ; happily for herself, she is released from life before 
losing her mother, or yours, or you ; saved, thus, from under- 
going pangs worse than those of death itself. 

“ Learn then, my son, that death is a benefit to all men : 
it is the night of that restless day we call by the name of life. 
The diseases, the griefs, the vexations, and the fears, which 
perpetually embitter our life as long as we possess it, molest 
us no more in the sleep of death. If you inquire into the 
history of those men who appear to have been the happiest, 
you will find that they have bought their apparent felicity very 
dear ; public consideration, perhaps, by domestic evils ; the 
rare happiness of being beloved, by continual sacrifices ; and 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


I0 3 

often, at the expiration of a life devoted to the good of 
others, they see themselves surrounded only by false friends, 
and ungrateful relations. But Virginia was happy to her very 
last moment. When with us, she was happy in partaking of 
the gifts of nature ; when far from us, she found enjoyment in 
the practice of virtue; and -even at the terrible moment in 
which we saw her perish, she still had cause for self-gratulation. 
for, whether she cast her eyes on the assembled colony, made 
miserable by her expected loss, or on you, my son who, with 
so much intrepidity, were endeavoring to save her, she must 
have seen how dear she was to all. Her mind was fortified 
against the future by the remembrance of her innocent life ; 
and at that moment she received the reward which heaven 
reserves for virtue, — a courage superior to danger. She met 
death with a serene countenance. 

“ My son ! God gives all the trials of life to virtue, in order 
to show that virtue alone can support them, and even find in 
them happiness and glory. When he designs for it an illustri- 
ous reputation* he exhibits it on a wide theatre, and contending 
with death. Then does the courage of virtue shine forth as an 
example, and the misfortunes to which it has been exposed re- 
ceive forever, from posterity, the tribute of their tears. This 
is the immortal monument reserved for virtue in a world where 
everything else passes away, and where the names, even of 
the greater number of kings themselves, are soon buried in 
eternal oblivion. 

“ Meanwhile Virginia still exists. My son, you see that 
everything changes on this earth, but that nothing is ever lost. 
No art of man can annihilate the smallest particle of matter; 
can, then, that which has possessed reason, sensibility affection, 
virtue and religion be supposed capable of destruction, when 
the very elements with which it is clothed are imperishable ? 
Ah ! however happy Virginia may have been with us, she is 
now much more so. There is a God, my son ; it is unnecessary 
for me to prove it to you, for the voice of all nature loudly 
proclaims it. The wickedness of mankind lead them to deny 
the existence of a Being, whose justice they fear. But your 
mind is fully convinced of his existence, while his works are 
ever before your eyes. Do you then believe that he would 
leave Virginia without recompense ? Do you think that the 
same Power which inclosed her noble soul in a form so beauti- 
ful, — so like an emanation from itself, could not have saved 
her from the waves ? — that he who has ordained the happiness 
©f man Bare, by-laws unknown to you, cannot prepare a still 


io4 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


higher degree of felicity for Virginia by other laws, of which 
you are equally .ignorant ? Before we were born into this 
world, could we, do you imagine, even if we were capable of 
thinking at all, have formed any idea of our existence here ? 
And now that we are in the midst of this gloomy and transi- 
tory iife, can we foresee what is beyond the tomb, or in what 
manner we shall be emancipated from it ? Does God, like man, 

( need this little globe, the earth, as a theatre for the display of 
his intelligence and his goodness ? — and can he only dispose 
of human life in the territory of death ? — There is not, in the 
entire ocean, a single drop of water which is not peopled with 
living beings appertaining to man : and does there exist noth- 
ing for him in the heavens above his head ? What ! is there no 
supreme intelligence, no divine goodness, except on this little 
spot where we are placed ? In those innumerable glowing fires, 
— in those infinite fields of light which surround them, and 
which neither storms nor darkness can extinguish, is there 
nothing but empty space and an eternal void ? If we, weak 
and ignorant as we are, might dare to assign limits to that 
Power from whom we have received everything, we might 
possibly imagine that we were placed on the very confines of 
his empire, where life is perpetually strugggling with death, 
and innocence forever in danger from the power of tyranny ! 

“ Somewhere, then, without doubt, there is another world, 
where virtue will receive its reward. Virginia is now happy. 
Ah ! if from the abode of angels she could hold communication 
with you, she would tell you, as she did when she bade you 
her last adieus, — ‘ O, Paul ! life is but a scene of trial. I have 
been obedient -to the laws of nature, love, and virtue. I 
crossed the seas to obey the will of my relations ; I sacrificed 
wealth in order to keep my faith ; ancl I preferred the loss of 
lite to disobeying the dictates of modesty. Heaven found 
that I had fulfilled my duties, and has snatched me forever 
from all the miseries I might have endured myself, and all I 
might have felt for the miseries of others. I am placed far 
above the reach of all human evils, and you pity me ! I am 
become pure and unchangeable as a particle of light, and you 
would recall me to the darkness of human life ! O, Paul ! O, 
my beloved friend ! recollect those days of happiness, when in 
the morning we felt the delightful sensations excited by the 
unfolding beauties of nature ; when we seemed to rise with 
the sun to the peaks of those rocks, and then to spread with 
his rays over the bosom of the forests. We experienced a 
delight, the. cause of which we could not comprehend. In the 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


105 

i innocence of our desires,' we wished to be all sight, to enjoy 
\the rich colors of the early dawn ; all smell, to taste a thous- 
and perfumes at once ; all hearing, to listen to the singing of 
/our birds ; and all hearts, to be capable of gratitude for those 
mingled blessings. Now, at the source of the beauty whence 
flows all that is delightful upon earth, my soul intuitively sees, 
tastes, hears, touches, what before she could only be made 
sensible of though the medium of our weak organs. Ah ! 
what language can describe these shores of eternal bliss, 
which I inhabit forever! All that infinite power and heavenly 
goodness could create to console the unhappy : all that the 
friendship of numberless beings, exulting in the same fecility 
can impart, we enjoy in unmixed perfection. Support, then, 
the trial which is not allotted to you, that you may heighten 
the happiness of your Virginia by love which will know no 
termination, — by a union which will be eternal. There I will 
calm your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. Oh, my, be- 
loved friend ! my youthful husband ! raise your thoughts to- 
wards the infinite, to enable you to support the evils of a 
moment/ ” 

My own emotion choked my utterance. Paul, looking at 
me steadfastly, cried, — “ She is no more ! she is no more ! ” 
and a long fainting fit succeeded these words of woe. When 
restored to himself, he said, “ Since death is a good, and since 
Virginia is happy, I will die too, and be united to Virginia.” 
Thus the motives of consolation I had offered, only served to 
nourish his despair. I was in the situation of a man who 
attempts to save a friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and 
who obstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow had completely 
overwhelmed his soul. Alas ! the trials of early years prepare 
man for the afflictions of after-life ; but Paul had never 
experienced any. 

I took him back to his own dwelling, where I found his 
mother and Madame de la Tour in a state of increased 
languor and exhaustion, but Margaret seemed to droop the 
most. Lively characters, upon whom petty troubles have but 
little effect, sink the soonest under great calamities. 

“ O mv good friend,” said Margaret, “ I thought last night 
I saw Virginia, dressed in white, in the midst of groves and 
delicious gardens. She said to me, ‘ I enjoy the most perfect 
happiness : ’ and then approaching Paul with a smiling air, 
she bore him away with her. While I was struggling to retain 
my son, I felt that I myself too was quitting the earth, and 
that I followed with inexpressible delight. I then wished to 


rAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


io 6 

bid my friend farewell, when I saw that she was hastening 
after me, accompanied by Mary and Domingo. But the 
strangest circumstance remains yet to be told ; Madame de la 
Tour has this very night had a dream exactly like mine in 
every possible respect.” 

“ My dear friend,” I replied, “ nothing, I firmly believe, 
happens in this world without the permission of God. Future 
events, too, are sometimes revealed in dreams.” 

Madame de la Tour then related to me her dream which was 
exactly the same as Margaret’s in every particular ; and as I 
had never observed in either of these ladies any propensity 
to superstition, I was struck with the singular coincidence of 
their dreams, and I felt convinced that they would soon be 
realized. The belief that future events are sometimes revealed 
to us during sleep, is one that is widely diffused among the 
nations of the earth. The greatest men of antiquity have had 
faith in it ; among whom may be mentioned Alexander the 
Great, Julius Caesar, the Scipios, the two Catos, and Brutus, 
none of whom were weak-minded persons. Both the Old ancl 
the New Testament furnish us with numerous instances of 
dreams that came to pass. As for myself, I need only, on this 
subject, appeal to my experience, as I have more than once 
had good reason to believe that superior intelligences, who 
interest themselves in our welfare, communicate with us in 
these visions of the night. Things which surpass the light of 
human reason cannot be proved by arguments derived from 
that reason ; but still, if the mind of man is an image of that 
of God, since man can make known his will to the ends of the 
earth by secret missives, may not the Supreme Intelligence 
which governs the universe employ similar means to attain a 
like end ? One friend consoles another by a letter, which, 
after passing through many kingdoms, and being in the hands 
of various individuals at enmity with each other, brings at 
last joy and hope to the breast of a single human being. 
May not in like manner the Sovereign Protector of innocence 
come in some secret way, to the help of a virtuous soul, which 
puts its trust in him alone ? Has he occasion to employ visible 
means to effect his purpose in this, whose ways are hidden in 
all his ordinary works ? 

Why should we doubt the evidence of dreams ? for what is 
our life, occupied as it is with vain and fleeting imaginations, 
other than a prolonged vision of the night ? 

Whatever may be thought of this in general, on the present 
occasion the dreams of my friends were soon realized. Paul 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA . 


107 


expired two months after the death of his Virginia, whose 
name dwelt on his lips in his expiring moments. About a 
week after the death of her son, Margaret saw her last hour 
approach with that serenity which virtue only can feel. She 
bade Madame de la Tour, a most tender farewell, “ in the 
certain hope,” she said, “ of a delightful and eternal re-union. 
Death is the greatest of blessings to us,” added she, “ and we 
ought to desire it. If life be a punishment, we should wish for 
its termination ; if it be a trial, we should be thankful that it 
is short.” 

The governor took care of Domingo and Mary, who were 
no longer able to labor, and who survived their mistresses but 
a short time. As for poor Fidele, he pined to death, soon after 
he had lost his master. 

I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to Madame de la Tour, 
who bore up under her calamities with incredible elevation of 
mind. She had endeavored to console Paul and Margaret till 
their last moments, as if she herself had no misfortunes of 
her own to bear. When they were no more, she used to talk 
to me every day of them as of beloved friends, who were still 
living near her. She survived them, however, but one month. 
Far from reproaching her aunt for the afflictions she had 
caused, her benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, and to 
appease that remorse which we heard began to torment her, 
as soon as she had sent Virginia away with so much inhu- 
manity. 

Conscience, that certain punishment of the guilty, visited 
with all its terrors the mind of this unnatural relation. So 
great was her torment, that life and death became equally 
insupportable to her. Sometimes she reproached herself with 
the untimely fate of her lovely niece, and with the death of 
her mother, which had immediately followed it. At other 
times she congratulated herself for having repulsed far from 
her two wretched creatures, who, she said, had both dishon- 
ored their family by their grovelling inclinations. Sometimes, 
at the sight of the many miserable objects with which Paris 
abounds, she would fly into a rage, and exclaim, — “ Why are 
not these idle people sent off to the colonies ? ” As for the 
notions of humanity, virtue, and religion, adopted by all na- 
tions, she said, they were only the inventions of their rulers, 
to serve political purposes. Then, flying all at once to the 
other extreme, she abandoned herself to superstitious terrors, 
which filled her with mortal fears. She would then give 
abundant alms to tire wealthy ecclesiastics who governed her, 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


io5 

beseeching them to appease the wrath of God by the sacrifice 
of her forfune, — as if the offering to Him of the wealth she 
had withheld from the miserable could please her Heavenly 
Father! In her imagination she often beheld fields of fire, 
with burning mountains, wherein hideous spectres wandered 
about, loudly calling on her by name. She threw herself at 
her confessor’s feet, imagining every description of agony and 
torture ; for Heaven — just Heaven, always sends to the cruel 
the most frightful views of religion and a future state. 

Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding both life and 
death in equal horror, she lived on for several years. But what 
completed the torments of her miserable existence, was that 
very object to which she had sacrificed every natural affection. 
She was deeply annoyed at perceiving that her fortune must 
go, at her death, to relations whom she hated, and she deter- 
mined to alienate as much of it as she could. They, however, 
taking advantage of her frequent attacks of low spririts, caused 
her to be secluded as a lunatic, and her affairs to be put into 
the hands of trustees. Her wealth, thus completed her ruin ; 
and, as the possession of it had hardened her own heart, so 
did its anticipation corrupt the hearts of those who coveted it 
from her. At length she died, and, to crown her misery, she 
retained reason enough at last to be sensible that she was 
plundered and despised by the very persons whose opinions 
had been her rule of conduct during her whole life. 

On the same -spot, and at the foot of the same shrubs as 
his Virginia, "was deposited the body of Paul ; and round abopt 
them lie the remains of their tender mothers and their faithftil 
servants. No marble marks the spot of their humble graves, 
no inscription records their virtues ; but their memory is en- 
graven upon the hearts of those whom they have befriended, 
in indelible characters. Their spirits have no need of the 
pomp, which they shunned during their life ; but if they still 
take an interest in what passes upon earth, they no doubt love 
to wander beneath the roofs of these humble dwellings, inhab- 
ited by industrious virtue, to console poverty discontented with 
its lot, to cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred fiaipe of 
fidelity, and to inspire a taste for the blessings of nature, a 
love of honest labor, and a dread of the allurements of riches. 

The voice of the people, which is often silent with regard 
to the monuments raised to kings, has given to some parts of 
this island names which will immortalize the loss of Virginia. 
Near the isle of Amber, in the midst of sandbanks, is a spot 
called The Pass of the Saint-Geran, from the name of the 


PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 


109 


vessel which was there lost. The extremity of that point of 
land which you see yonder, three leagues off, half covered 
with water, and which the Saint-Geran could not double the 
night before the hurricane, is called the Cape of Misfortune ; 
and before us, at the end of the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, 
where Virginia was found buried in the sand ; as if the waves 
had sought to restore her corpse to her family, that they might 
’render it the last sad duties on those shores where so many 
years of her innocent life had been passed. 

Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, who were so tenderly 
united ! unfortunate mothers ! beloved family ! these woods 
which sheltered you with their foliage, — these fountains which 
flowed for you, — these hill-sides upon which you reposed, still 
deplore your loss ! No one has since presumed to cultivate 
that desolate spot of land, or to rebuild those humble cottages. 
Your goats are become wild : your orchards are destroyed; 
your birds are all fled, and nothing is heard but the ciy of the 
sparrow-hawk, as it skims in quest of prey around this rocky 
basin. As for myself, since I have ceased to behold you, I 
have felt friendless and alone, like a father bereft of his 
children, or a traveller who wanders by himself over the face 
of the earth.” 

Ending with these words, the good old man retired, bathed 
in tears ; and my own, too, had flowed more than once during 
this melancholy recital. 


THE END 



I 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


Under the title of * * LovelV s Library / a 'Weekly Publication,” tlie 
undersigned have commenced tlie publication of all the best works in 
Current and Standard Literature. 

The Contents of each number will be taken more especially from the 
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While the price will be the same as other cheap series, namely 10 
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to anything heretofore attempted, especially in the following points : 

Mr st . — The type will be larger and the print consequently clearer. 

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Third . — Each number will have a handsome paper cover ; and this, 
in connection with the size, will make it worthy of preservation. 

NUMBERS NOW READY: 


1. Hyperion, by Longfellow, . . .20 

2. Outre-Mer, by Longfellow, . . .20 

3. The Happy Boy, by BjOmson . .10 

4. Arne, by BjOmson, 10 

5. Frankenstein, by Mra. Shelley, .10 

6. The Last of the Mohicans, . . .20 

7. Clytie, by Joseph Hatton, . . .20 

8. The Moonstone, by Wilkie Col- 

lins, Part I, 10 

9. Ho. Part II, 10 

10. Oliver Twist, by Bickens, . . .20 

11. The Coming Race : or the New 

Utopia, by Lord Lytton, . . .10 

12. Leila ; or the Siege of Granada, 

by Lord Lytton, 10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by George 

Walker, 20 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks Unveil- 

ed, by Robert Houdin, . . .20 

15. L’Abbe Constantin, by Ludovic 

Halevy, Author of La Fille 
de Mme. Angot” etc., ... .20 

16. Freckles, by Rebecca Fergus 

Redcliff. A new original 
story, .20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Mrs. Rob- 

ert Buchanan, 20 

18. They Were Married! by Walter 

Besant and James Rice, . . .10 

19. Seekers after God, by Canon 

Farrar, D.D., 20 

20. The Spanish Nun, by Thos. De 

Quincey, 10 


21. The Green Mountain Boys, by 

Judge D. P. Thompson, . . .20 

22. Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe, . .20 

23. Second Thoughts, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

24. The New Magdalen, by Wilkie 

Collins, 20 

25. Divorce, by Margaret Lee, . . .20 

26. Life of Washington, by Leonard 

Henley, 20 

27. Social Etiquette, by Mrs. W. A. 

Saville, 15 

28. Single Heart and Double Face, 

by Chas. Reade, 10 

29. Irene : or the Lonely Manor, by 

Carl Detlef, 20 

30. Vice Versa, by F. Anstey, . . .20 

31. Ernest Maltravers, by Lord 

Lytton 20 

32. The Haunted House and Cal- 

deron the Courtier, by Lord 
Lytton, 10 

33. John Halifax, by Miss Mulock, .20 

34. 800 Leagues on the Amazon, by- 

Jules Verne, 10 

35. The Cryptogram, by Jules Verne .10 

36. Life of Marion, by Horry and 

Weems, 20 

37. Paul and Virginia, 10 

38. Tale of Two Cities, by Charles 

Dickens, . .20 

39. The Hermits, by Rev. Charles 

Kingsley, 20 


Many of the above are also bound handsomely in clotb, gilt, price 
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JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 


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LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


In 16mo volumes, handsomely bound in cloth, black and gold, 

50 cents each. 


Hyperion. By H. W. Long- 
fellow. 

Outre-Mer. By H. W. Long- 
fellow. 

The Happy Boy, and Arne. 

By Bjornstjerne Bjornson. 

Frankenstien ; or, The Mod- 
ern Promethius. By Mrs. Mart 

WOLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY. 

Clytie. By Joseph Hatton. 

The Moonstone. By Wilkie 
Collins. 

The Coming Race : or the 

New Utopia, and Leila: or the Siege 
of Granada. By Lord Lttton. 

The Three Spaniards. By 

George Walker. 

The Tricks of the Greeks Un- 
veiled. Robert Houdin. 

j L’Abbe Constantin. By Lu- 

dovic Halevy, Author of “La Fille 
de Mme. Angot,” etc. 

! Freckles. By Rebecca Fergus 

Redcliff. A new original story. 

•The Dark Colleen. By Mrs. 
Robert Buchanan. 

Seekers after God. By Rev. 
Cannon Farrar, D.D. 

The Green Mountain Boys. 

By Judge D. P. Thompson. 


Fleurette. By Eugene Scribe. 

Second Thoughts. By Rhoda 
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The New Magdalen. By Wil- 
kie Collins. 

Divorce. By Margaret Lee. 

Life of Washington. By Leon- 
ard Henley. 

Irene : or the Lonely Manor. 

By Carl Detlef. 

Vice Versa. By F. Anstey. 

John Halifax. By Miss Mu- 
lock. 

The Giant Raft. Part I., 800 

Leagues on the Amazon: Part II., 
The Cryptogram. By Jules Verne. 

Life of Marion. By Horry 
and Weems. 

The Hermits. By Rev. Char- 
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Duke of Kandos. By A. Mat- 
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East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 
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Jane Eyre. By Charlotte 
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Hypatia. By Rev. Charles 
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Marriage in High Life. By 

Octave FeUillet. 


New York: JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 & 16 Vesey St. 


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